As I was making my coffee this morning, I had a random flashback to a moment in time that I will never forget — the moment that my daughter’s principal told me “it’s never too early to start thinking about group homes for her in the future.”
At the time, she was only in fourth grade, and I was being told by someone that basically she had no hope of living on her own when she was an adult.
It’s a memory that comes to me often, at the most random times like a bad dream.
It was one of the worst moments of my life, to hear those words so early on in my daughter’s life.
My entire family, except for my sister who counts her calories and goes to the gym 3–4 times a week, is overweight.
Yes, even my thirteen-year-old daughter is overweight for her height and age and I take on almost all of the responsibility for that, for not making sure she’s always eating the healthiest foods or getting enough exercise.
It is my job as her parent to make sure she grows up healthy, and besides our family’s thunder thigh fat genes, I often look at her and think that it’s my fault she’s overweight, and that’s totally fine with me…
Because she’s not old enough to believe that it’s her own fault.