http://jezebel.com/fit-ab-baring-mom-issues-faux-pology-over-judgey-faceb-1445844576

Maria Kang posted this obnoxious photo of herself on Facebook and is getting shit for it, and rightfully so. She admits to being a former bulimic.

Something that hasn't been said, or that I haven't seen yet, in all the social media backlash: Me thinks she is not recovered. She played condescending tough-gal in her non-apology response to all the criticism, so I'd like to throw the shade back at her. Honey, your eating disorder is showing.

When I say this, it's not,  "She's clearly still purging, look at those ribs." She may very well be eating perfectly healthy and fine. It's not about the food consumption nor work out obsession nor abdominal muscles. As a "former" bulimic myself -- there's the question, are we ever really recovered? -- I believe that a huge part of recovery is recognizing the bullshit in wrapping your self worth in what your body looks like and how much space it consumes.  Rise above that shit -- or at least try! Or at least don't become part of the problem!

I don't take issue with the picture. If she just posted the picture itself, in all its self-aggrandizing greatness, with the ages of her kids and her stupid pose, with her coiffed hair and makeup, that would be fine, I guess. Still obnoxious, but no different than any other attention seeking Facebook post from anyone ever. The caption, though. How condescending, mean, short-sighted, and disordered of you.

I'm no psychologist or psychiatrist, but clearly she's obsessed with her body...and everyone elses. I see a manifestation of her eating disorder wrapped up in a pretty picture with an asshole caption.

I'm still body obsessed too. I feel like most people are, whether they be Maria's acceptable image of fit or not. But I try so hard not to be. I fight myself every day about it -- remembering the eating disorder hell that I've been through and looking at my daughter, feeling how much I don't want such a life for her. I'm embarrassed by my concern for my body, those thoughts that I can not escape, but I can intellectually and through time will them away. I wish I was so easily above it all. Maria Kang embraces body obsession in a way that I find so gauche, especially considering she's a "recovering bulimic." I suppose I wrongfully assume or hope that people recovering from disordered eating make it their mission in life to "not go there" anymore. 

Usually I try to squeeze in a work out video while Felicity naps, but today I purged my thoughts instead.

Tidbit from last night's conversation.

Eugenio: You should listen to I'm Not a Human Being II. Some songs you'll find offensive but on other songs there's like, piano. *Mimes piano playing* You'll like it.

 

I'mma -- that's not a word, just type out I'm going to, damnit! -- take a hot minute -- Wait, why is the minute hot?-- to discuss a few trite phrases that we should consider removing or replacing from our Internet vernacular. I may or may not have uttered/typed the very phrases I'm about to malign.

Now that we've moved on and people without celiac disease are consuming gluten again (I think? I hope!), everyone keeps saying how they're eating "clean," which makes me want to talk about how dirty I've been eating.

When someone likes an article, to show appreciation and demonstrate ardent agreement, she profoundly declares, "This" in the comment section.  Let's change it up and start saying, "That."

I haven't heard this one recently, but when I do see it, I must walk away from whatever I'm reading, as my reaction is so visceral, I can't stomach any more. It's the worst  -- no, it's not worth such hyperbole --  but I dislike it immensely when amazeballs -- I had a hard time even typing that -- is used in a text I am otherwise enjoying. It's ketchup on a steak eaten with fingers. Cringe worthy. You guys -- hey, let's stop pretending we're all buddy-buddy -- I don't even have a replacement for amazeballs. Just never ever say it.

Ugh, such annoying hackneyed Internet phrases. Amirite?! No. You are wrong. That is not a word.

We're in Dallas for a weekend trip. Feels good to be back to civilization. Never thought I'd think so highly of Dallas, but hey -- relativity. I'm going to return to Oklahoma kicking and screaming and probably crying. I've seen the light! 

Oh, and, I found America's Next Top Baby. All the other babies can crawl on home now. 

 

Just another day in the life. 

Another thing that kept me awake at night, that I can't stop perseverating over -- the pediatrician said Felicity has a flat head. I've been obsessed with making sure that she doesn't get a flat head since birth! I've been like the Jillian Michaels for babies drilling Felicity with tummy time every day.

                                           Do not phone this one in!

Eye of the tiger, Felicity. You got this.

                                    Lift that head!

And even when she gives me this:

"Today's my break day, Mom. Imma just lay here."

We do what I call The Lazy Baby's Tummy Time: 

 

Additionally, I make sure she spends ample time in her carrier, instead of more lying back like a baby in the stroller. She hated the baby carrier when she was smaller, but for the past month she's been loving our walks and trips to the grocery store. It's sunny with no shade here, and Felicity is too young for sun screen, so I'm the pale nut walking around the lake carrying my papoose and holding an umbrella, fighting the wind, under the clear blue sky. We look cool, though. 

In one laughing comment, the pediatrician belittled our ardent effort. She didn't seem concerned about it, though. She was just, "Ha! Ha! She has a flat head, " like it was cute. Responding to my despondent look, she added, "It's not as bad as other babies I've seen, where their heads are all lopsided." Then she giggled some more, taking delight at the thought of all the alien headed stupid babies.

"But we've been doing tummy time! And I carry her whenever I can! I've been doing all these things to prevent the flat head and she still has a flat head," I whined.

"You don't want to carry her too much," was her grave response, all laughter gone.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, because then you'll spoil her."

Most would say you can't spoil a baby this young. Such an opinionated comment from a pediatrician might have another parent running for the door, but I've started to find her nutty conversations charming. She's a character. Someone I can write about in my journal instead of the normal what-is-my-life, I'm-such-a-loser rants.

Dr. X is the shortest person who isn't technically a little person whom I've ever seen. Every time I see her she's wearing no smaller than five inch platform heals, and I still tower over her like a basketball player. After a moment or so of her looking up to speak to me, I take a seat to give her neck a rest. I get a funny visual when I try to imagine her picking up a chubby 25 pound baby.

The first time I met her, I was annoyed. She's a bit forgetful. Felicity needed a follow-up ultrasound and she forgot to complete the referral. During that appointment she also kept saying, "I'm going to refer you to a Filipino babysitter." She was very insistent that the babysitter be Filipino, like her. I was all for it. We needed a sitter and I knew not one soul on the prairie. I was looking forward to getting that number. Like the nephrologist referral, she did not follow through, leaving me with the impression that she was someone who said things she did not mean, just to make conversation. Like, "We should get together sometime!" might be something she'd say to be polite to an acquaintance she had no intention of seeing again. Upon leaving she told me, "I hope you like it here. We lose a lot of good doctors because their spouses don't." Well that sounds promising, I thought.

I decided to give her another chance, and I've changed my mind. She keeps me on my toes. I have to look shit up myself to make sure it's sane advice.  Besides, one look at any baby forum and you know, everything is debatable. Just find a doctor who amuses you, that's my philosophy.

So, this funny, small doctor keeps terrorizing my mind all night. "Ha! Ha! She has a flat head."

I'm not so convinced Felicity's head is flat, anyway. Maybe I'm in denial, but it feels normal to me. At any rate, I'm stepping up her training. Baby boot camp is on in this house. There's no crying in tummy time! 

As we entered the restaurant, Eugenio looked at me with a smile on his face.

"You smell so good," he said getting a wiff of perfume.

There was romance in the air.

"Oh, haha! That's not me." 

My heart sank with the thought that I will always smell vaguely like curdled breast milk. Sorry, babe.