It is a statement of fact that I love books; to me they are as necessary as breathing.  I check out and purchase books on books, and have recently been perusing books on libraries, which house books and are equally fascinating.  One particular volume that was a photo documentary on public libraries in the United States, I maxed out renewals on simply because I wasn't ready to part with it.  Seriously, this is an issue and I should probably join some kind of 12 step program.  I have begun using a professional program to inventory my books simply because it upgrades my status from "hoarder" to "collector."  (Apparently the hoarder bench mark is passed somewhere around the first thousand in inventory).

When I am not reading books to my children, or books about books for my children, or books about how to teach my children, or books about books in general, I like to sneak in chic lit.  It is a guilty pleasure just like some people may purchase a candy bar (which I can buy three books at the thrift store for the price of).  I love it.  The characters are shallow, the plot line predictable, and my brain does not have to do anything other than pretend it is at a day spa getting a delightful and comforting word sauna.

Until....

Until a book claiming to be humorous and celebratory of a protagonist that is of ample girth predictably make her eat butter on Twinkies to justify her size.

Until the same book inevitably makes the woman loose weight through a series of devoted exercise regimes and fad diets.

The female character ends up thin in the end more often than she ends up with the man of her dreams.  And the latter is only because of the former.

This has struck a more personal chord and twanged it considerably out of tune recently.    I spent an entire weekend not to long ago in the emergency room getting tested because they thought I might have a blood clot. I still might actually...but that is relatively unimportant to the current caveat.

I was dutiful this time and went to a follow up appointment immediately with my doctor - this was necessary in order to get the more extensive testing done required to see what is actually wrong.  The doctor came in, looked at me, looked at my weight, told me to eat 1/4 less than what I have been and get my arse up and play with the kids instead of watching from the sidelines.   Then he walked out.  He did not order the tests, or give any concern to what multiple doctors, residents, and PA's had voiced all weekend long.  He did ask what I eat a day, but when I explained that I eat limited red meats, no fried foods, no pop, and lots of fruits and vegetables - he said that the LOTS was the key term and part of my issue.

Perhaps it is. In social settings with family and friends I tend to eat more, because I feel it is okay to indulge then.  But if that is the only way people see me it, they assume that is how I eat all the time.  I don't.  I remember portion sizes, skip seconds, and avoid things that I feel are violations of the pallet, which includes most canned pasta.  Desserts are special occasions only.  I DO NOT buy candy.

I certainly don't sit on the sidelines with my kids.  He obviously is mistaking them for kids that have been raised to be automatons   more obedient and less terrorizing rambunctious than my children.  We live by a river and a woods.  There are five of them and their main interests are in survival skills like animal tracking and edible plants.  You cannot just SIT and watch these children.  When they get bored they pretend their oldest sister is a vampire and try to use stakes they have made out of branches to vanquish her or force her to call in her bat brethren.  No...sitting passively is rarely involved when they are awake.

The bottom line is that I am big.  I am.  There is no getting around it.  I have lost and gained the same sixty pounds since 2007.  I had three kids between 2007 and 2011 and five total c sections.  I recently quit nursing and my hormones caused me to question the local bookstore on why they did not have a display of patriotic related materials in the children's section for the 4th of July.  Silly associate was new and obviously had not heard the warning to hide and quake in terror when I enter the store.  He knows better now. ( I don't think this unfair to ask by the way.)  Clearly I am not jolly, but more of the Persian cat with the squashed nose disposition.

ANYWAYS.  I am big.  I am probably going to be big until I have children who are all over the age of 10 and I can then devout the necessary three hours a day to work out safely without using any stomach muscles to reduce my mass  within chart ranges that don't have a skull and cross bones over my end.  I am big because I am.  I am not a couch potato, and I don't generally eat potato chips.  I just come from a long line of people who look like potato head toys, and they don't make those in the waif n' whisper size.

I would like to see a protagonist stay big.  I would like her to be admired and respected as a woman and portrayed as desirable.  It wouldn't even hurt to through in a bit of intelligence with those color coordinated nails and highlights.