Thin Obsession in a Country of Abundance

My two year old, Claire, handles a candy bar at the checkout line at the supermarket. It fits perfectly in her tiny little hands. She squeezes it, turns it over and looks at the wrapper. She puts it back, reaches for another on the shelf.

The candy is placed just at her eye level in palmable, enticing packaging. I hate that she’s so intrigued by something so devoid of any nutritional value, but I let her go. What else can I do?

My rhetorical answers:  "Not take her to the grocery store?" Pragmatically impossible.

Forbid it? That’s bound to backfire.

She’s actually never had any of it, but she knows. They want her to know. Its placement on the shelf. The way the candy looks -- all carefully contemplated. They start them young, when their minds are pliant. “Impulse purchase”…bypass the rational seat of the mind", I think.

I laugh, as I imagine how unlikely it would be to find carrot sticks in the checkout aisle. Nope. Marketing experts send their kids to college on the money they make figuring out how to make this crap so appealing.

“It’ll make you fat,” the woman in line in front of us says to Claire.

Really? I’m so shocked I don’t know what to say. I want to defend my daughter, but I can’t find the words. All I can think is “She's just a toddler? Wow. I hadn’t expected it so soon.”

The indoctrination begins.

Binge, purge. Repeat.

Complete and utter mixed messages courtesy of a country founded on the schizophrenic combo of the excess of capitalism and the guilt of puritanism.

I’ve written before about how society’s thin obsession has trickled down to children. I’ve read arresting pieces from moms who’ve had similar interactions with strangers as mine, as well as painful ones on the genesis of eating disorders. I was shocked to learn that 80% of fourth graders have dieted!

“But Claire isn’t anywhere near nine yet!” I protest in my mind.

I look at my daughter. She is a perfect cherub.

She’s just beginning to access the power and agency of her body. She's learning that its mastery can help her kick a ball, raise her arms towards the sky and express love through the most delicious hugs and kisses.

No, I didn’t expect to be here yet. I'm not ready for the sometimes subtle, sometimes not so subtle, message that she is not good enough just the way that she is. I thought I had a few years of reprieve.

Do I blame the woman in the grocery store line? I don’t know. After her ignorant statement, she was super nice to Claire. She doesn’t mean to be offensive. She’s just a cipher of a cultural ethic. It's not the fault of the people with marketing degrees either. College is awful expensive.

The reality is I don’t know who to blame.

All I know is that I feel powerless to stop an insidious, societal tide. And that this post is the most unfortunate thing that I’ve ever felt compelled to write.

Photo Source: D. Sharon Pruitt, Pink Sherbet Photography, Flickr, License This photo has been altered and does not suggest that the licenser endorses me, it's use or this blog.

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Adventures in Retail

“Well, that was just great!” George says with a spring in his step. He’s not talking about mind-blowing sex or dinner at a five-star restaurant. The bags he’s carrying are not filled with loot from the Apple store or Bergdorf’s. What he then describes as “like a trip to Europe” is a Demas family outing to the grocery store.

We stroll the aisles of D’Agastino’s like grand avenues. We compare the fat and sugar content of novelty ice cream bars, while Claire enjoys the repeating patterns of tubs and boxes. If we are feeling racy, we venture into the chocolate aisle or buy bubble gum. There’s never a serious purchase. We save the more industrious trips for Trader Joe’s.

If you’re thinking, “wow, they don’t get out much”, it’s not entirely true. We take Claire all kinds of places. Unlike the grocery store, though, these trips require an action plan of varying complexity. A simple trip to the park means packing and lugging the diaper bag, loading her into the car, finding parking. Then there are the intangibles. What if hunger strikes in the middle of a traffic jam? Will the clouds let loose while we roam the ramble in Central Park? What if she starts screaming in the middle of the Cloisters with no quick getaway? How do we handle an explosive poop on the duvet cover of a prestigious Broadway producer? (Yes, that happened.) Then the rare trip without Claire requires pumping and babysitter coordination. Plus, I just miss her when we’re out. I miss things she does too, like her very first laugh. I’ll never get that back.

So now it may seem I’m complaining about a complicated yet boring life. Actually, I’m in George’s camp. I couldn’t dream of a better time with my two favorite people. Well, one thing would make it better -- D’Agastino’s with my two favorite people on a full night’s sleep.