The year Ryan started preschool, he was three until October 2nd when he turned four. He was the biggest kid in the class. At the end of that year, despite the fact that he would be five before the December 1st deadline, his preschool teacher recommended he repeat preschool instead of going to kindergarten.

I’m glad we followed her recommendation. Even though Ryan is still the biggest kid in class. I got measured at my doctor’s appointment the other day, and I am four foot, eleven and a half inches tall (hearing that made me feel like a tiny, tiny woman). Ryan is five foot tall. I wear a women’s size six shoe. Ryan wear’s a men’s size six shoe.

About a week after school started this year, Ryan sat down next to me and said “Mom, I want to do something about my weight this year. I’m sick of always being like this.” He was referring to the fact that at five foot tall and ten years old, he weighs 143 pounds.

It was hard for me to hear him say that. We have had ten years of pediatricians telling us that his height will eventually catch up to his weight. Ever since birth, whatever age Ryan was, he was always double that in clothing size. Age six months, twelve month clothes, age two, size 4T, etc. But as he grew taller and taller (and taller!), his weight kept increasing as well. The one thing my husband and I agreed we did not want to do is put him on a “diet”, and start him on a lifelong cycle of gaining and losing. But when he asked us, it meant he was ready to do it for himself.

We ordered a pediatrician-approved program called Slimkids. We followed it for a week, and Ryan lost three pounds. Then the weekend came and his birthday came and he gained the three pounds back. I completely blame myself. He is ten years old, and it is my responsibility to plan, shop for and prepare our family’s meals. It is up to me to put the food that he needs in front of him. But because I have food issues of my own, I am failing already. I buy donuts, and potato chips, even though they aren’t on either of our weight loss programs.

I am failing my son. And I feel like a bad mother. How could I not muster every ounce of strength, determination and courage that I have in order to help my son be the healthiest person he can be? My handsome, amazingly intelligent, talented, funny, beautiful boy. I know that I have it within my power to help him, and to help myself.

I just have to find that power.

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