My four year old daughter (lovely, lithe, blond, blue-eyed) clutched her thigh as she was getting dressed this morning and said "It's too big and soft here, Mummy."
I suspect her teacher. Her TEACHER! Emaciated, overly made-up, weighed down by several pounds of jewellery every day, and driver of a car emblazoned with "I Run!" bumper stickers, she is lucky the school year is over soon, for my first impulse on hearing Clara's self-condemnation was to find and eviscerate her.
But soon Clara will be in summer camp.
Poor/ Lucky Clara also has her grandparents (my in-laws) coming in two weeks to help us with school closures over Easter week. While Clara LOVES her grandparents, her grandmother HATES her own hair, and has an unfortunate habit of remarking on how Clara's hair is just like hers.
She's only FOUR. Gaarrrhh. I'm pretty messed up, but I'm fairly sure I didn't have complexes about my appearance til I was at least ten.
This more than anything makes me want to concede to Husband's request that we buy a yurt and live in the Colorado wilds, feral and secluded.