Yesterday I took my daughter to a department store in order to buy a suitcase for P. He needed a new one for our upcoming vacation trip because his old one has broken wheels, a broken zipper, and very low self-esteem in general. While I was there, I browsed for a new top for myself. I had a coupon, ya'll.
The kid was "helping" by pushing our shopping cart (which had the suitcase in it). We were in the women's section. "Let's go over here," she said, and started to steer the cart towards the plus size racks.
"I want to stay in this section," I replied, guiding the cart back towards the jeans I was fondling. While I surely have had my struggles with my weight, thus far I have not required plus sizes. Honestly, I'm not even sure why it needs to be a separate section. Why not just put all the clothes together and have a full array of sizes in every style?
"Why don't you want to shop over there?" A asked. Oh geez. How to say this? I am very careful about the language I use when my daughter is around because I don't ever want her to worry about her body or her weight. I don't think my pocket-sized peanut will ever have weight problems, but I want her to have a good self-image regardless.
"Well, that section is for . . . big people. We'll just shop right here." (Not the most politically correct wording, I know. I apologize.)
"Big people? Like you?" Crap. In her mind: big person = grown-up.
"No, it's a special section for . . . people who are larger," I whispered. Why, oh why, didn't I just say I didn't like the clothes in that section or something?
That seemed to satisfy her. However, moments later I was browsing a rack that was near the plus size section and angled the cart in that direction.
At the top of her lungs: "MOM! YOU'RE ALMOST IN THE SPECIAL PEOPLE SECTION!" Great. Now, plus size = special needs. I can't win.
I'll leave you with a couple of photos from our very eventful weekend.