That whole heroin chic thing got me, but then...I work in a college. I see girls in their 20s, in the peak time of their slavery to fashion and culture and giving-a-shit, and things have actually changed. When I was 20 and fat, culture told me I should cover up the most possible, even if it made me look fatter because heaven forfend someone should see a roll, or a jiggle. Now there are girls high up there on the BMI scale rocking leggings and crop tops and bikinis and whatever-the-fuck-they-want. And this isn't forward-thinking-urban-land, either. This is backwards, staid, rural living. So I think things might - might - be a little better. Maybe.

I want to figure out how to teach my daughter to love her container, flaws and perfections both, more than I ever loved or tolerated mine. I just have to figure out how to translate how I see her to how she sees herself. To me, she is, and will always be, perfection. I need to do the opposite of my mother, who taught me to hate my body because she hated hers, and who sabotaged my efforts to love my body because she couldn't do the same. Yep. Once I have that figured out, that'll be good.