Self Worth, Explained to a 5 Year Old

Teachable moments, huh? Every parent has them. How about the moments that yes, are teachable, but bring you to tears, sting your heart, and take every ounce of your being not to turn into a heap of sobbing pregnant rage? That was my day yesterday. Well, the last few days any ways.

Micah, our oldest, is proving to me more and more why I want to get rid of cable television. His little brain is all of 5 years, but he is a sponge that soaks everything up. He is a very auditory learner, and can memorize almost anything word-for-word and spit it back to you like a parrot. Documentaries, animal facts, OXY-clean commercials, you name it. He absorbs everything, and lets me know which products are supposed to be "the best," which foods are "deliciously nutritious," and what games "need 2 to 8 players. That's us, right?" It is literally driving me crazy. We limit television in our house, but I have started to have to put the commercials on mute because I can't stand being in Publix, getting the cheap Ultrabrite tooth paste, and having my son tell me, "Mom, get the Colgate because it makes my smile sexy." HE IS FIVE.

We have been talking quite a bit in our house lately about making healthy eating choices, what goes in to our body, exercise, and the like. With me being pregnant and planning a completely natural, intervention-free birth with a midwife in a home setting, I am trying to be as conscientious as possible (while still allowing my self a little freedom, of course) as to what me and my family are eating. Obviously, halfway through my third pregnancy, my body is changing shape rapidly despite only a 3 pound weight difference in 20 weeks. When you already have extra shock absorbers covering your valuable goods, you don't always have that cute, pregnant belly. You have more of a... well, I affectionately call her "Kanga." Like kangaroo. As in this: When I am not pregnant, she is the pouch that my babies were grown in, and hangs around waiting for another baby to be put in to her kangaroo pouch. When I am pregnant, that pouch mostly fills in, with some wiggle room at the bottom that will all eventually be hacked off when I am done having children, and Jose and I are snot filthy rich with not a care in the world. Until then, she is "Kanga," and is more than welcome to, ahem, hang around.

Two days before, I am on the floor doing prenatal pilates-like stretches. Micah joins me on the floor, and I am doing a butterfly stretch to warm up. Micah can easily put his feet together, touch his butt, and push his knees all the way to the floor. I can get about 5 inches away, and my knees don't go all the way to the floor. Micah proceeds to inform me that it's because I am fat, that my fat bunches up and gets in the way. That he is skinny, and a boy, and is better than me at it because he is skinny, and a boy. 

"So boys are better than girls?"
"Yes."
"Oh really? What are boys better at?"
"Pretty much everything. We are faster, we are stronger, we stay skinny. We have better jobs."
"Girls can be fast and strong and skinny. And there can be boys that are too fat. Girls can have the same jobs as boys, if they want to. And God made boys and girls different. Some boys are good at some things, some girls are good at other things."
"Girls are better at just staying home."

Well, he does have a point for our family. The woman, in this case me, is much better at managing our house than Jose, the man. But I know that is not the case for every family.The next day's conversation was even worse for me. I was wearing low rise maternity pants. I only have 2 pairs of maternity jeans, that get rotated out. One is high (that I love), and the others are low, and I loathe them.

When you have a cute belly, the low rise ones are great. When you have Kanga hopping around, you are better off being comfortable and wearing the high ones. That morning I had no choice. I popped on the low rise ones, and away we went.  Getting in to the car, my jeans were falling off while I was trying to get into the car.

"I hate these pants!"
"Why Mommy? Are your legs to fat for them?"
"Micah, why would you say that? They are falling off, they are not to small."
"Well, you're legs are really fat. Maybe if you were skinny you wouldn't have these problems."
"You're right. But don't you think I am okay the way I am?"
"No, you're fat."
"So because you are skinny, are you better than me?"
"Yep."
"That's not true. God makes people in all different shapes, and sizes, and colors. That doesn't mean that any one is better than anyone else. It means they are different. What if someone had one leg instead of two, is one person better than another?"
"The person with two legs."
"No, Micah. Not better or worse. Both people, just different." 

After dropping him off at school, I called Jose on the way home and burst in to tears at the conversation we had. Already a pregnant ball of mushy hormones, this just threw me over the edge. So many things came rushing back to me that have taken me literally years to deal with, and I am still dealing with (another blog for another day about my body and my acceptance of it). Am I really of less value? Does being overweight make him see me as less of a mom? Does he really think handicapped people aren't of worth? 

The answer to all of it is a resounding "NO." After talking to Jose, settling down, and talking to Micah more when he got home, we worked through a lot of issues on color, size, shape, and handicap. We also talked about what is shaping his idea of what is good and perfect- the media- instead of what should be, which is what God says about us.

We are fearfully and wonderfully made. We are of value. We are individuals. We are unique, made for a purpose, and not made to please anyone else aesthetically, but made to please God with the way we live.

Taking care of your body is part of that. So is taking care of your mind. And this week, we will be taking care of our minds and saying goodbye (and good riddance!) to cable TV.

What do you do in your family to ensure that your child knows we are all created equal? Loved? Of value? And do you monitor their media intake?