Kelly Burch

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My toddler was twirling in her tutu bathing suit while I shimmied into my plus-sized polka dot bikini.

“Her face is beautiful. Beautiful,” Tiegs said.

“How many time have I asked you….” I say in frustration, and then it hits me. The real question I should be asking is how many times I’ve uttered that phrase.

I clearly remember the first time that I was forced to accept that something was wrong.

Our culture is so preoccupied with The Other, and the obsession with falling in love with a foreigner is just another manifestation of that. But I quickly found out that falling in love with someone from another country is not all fun and glory.

Don’t talk politics. Do. Not. This old adage is more important than ever this year, with an election that started off bad and has gotten consistently worse.

My daughter nursed (and was supplemented with formula, then milk) for 18 months, and when we weaned, it was because we were ready. After that first bottle, I should have realized that supplementing was great for both me and my daughter.

As my own home ownership dreams were delayed, I was able to look back on my parents’ decision to rent with a lot more understanding. My parents sometimes struggled to keep the electricity on, but they always made sure that the rent was paid, and that my siblings and me had a wonderful home, no matter whose name was on the deed.

“Then why are you so worried about the scale?” Why was I? I had finally let go of the scale as an indicator of my own health, but my inability to do the same when it came to my daughter was bringing up the same old feelings of inadequacy and frustration.