Heidi Bond - Whos the New Kid?: How an Ordinary Mom Helped Her Daughter Overcome Childhood Obesity — and You Can Too!

M OMMY! He called me fat!

My little girl, just on the cusp of three years old, came running over to me at the park with tears streaming down her face.

Who? I asked. Show me who!

I was filled with mama-bear rage. How dare someone call my daughter names? I took her by the hand, and we walked around until she pointed out the culprit. He was about five years old and didnt look like a monster, yet I was amazed at how much anger I could summon against a child. Hadnt his parents taught him not to call other kids names? For goodness sake, she hadnt even had her third birthday yet! He was picking on a girl who was practically a baby.

I wish I could tell you that I walked right over and had a calm but stern conversation about empathy with the boy and his mother, but the truth is that I dont remember anything after the rage. I just remember wanting to scoop up my little girl and protect her from all the hurts in the world. It was a beautiful day, and wed been having such a good mother-daughter time at the park. But after that, all I wanted to do was to get her home and make it all better.

Listen to me, I told Breanna in the car on the way home. Just because someone says something doesnt make it true. You are beautiful. Youre perfect just the way God made you. He doesnt make mistakes.

I said it... but even in that moment, I knew her body wasnt perfect. I knew that my little girl was overweight and no longer in just a cute baby fat way. Id never imagined something like this would happen to her at such a young age, but something told me that this wouldnt be the last time shed be called names.

Later that night, I lay in bed reflecting on the day. Please, God, help us, I called out. Dont let my sweet daughter be hurt like that ever again. Dont let the cruelty from other peoples hearts and words leave any scars.

Breanna was born in April 2002 at twenty inches long and weighing seven pounds, four ounces. She had big, green-blue eyes, reddish-brown hair, and the softest skin imaginable. She was healthy and happy and beautiful, just as wed prayed she would be.

Ive heard it said that once you have a child, your heart forever walks around in someone elses body. I knew this to be true from the moment I first held my newborn daughter. I was mesmerized by this person who had just taken her first breaths, and I was surprised to find that motherhood awakened in me both a fierce protectiveness and a consuming love. I knew that Id move heaven and earth for this little girl.

Things went well for the first year of Breannas life she was an easy baby, and we were happy parents. The doctor told me that breastfeeding was best, so thats what I did. She loved feeding times and would get such a contented look on her face after she ate.

She looks milk-drunk, my husband, Dan, said after she finished.

The way she fed was interesting to us not leisurely with stops and starts like most babies, but ravenously and quickly. She would drink and drink for ten or fifteen minutes, and then shed throw her arms back and fall into a deep sleep, as if to say, Ah, that was just what I needed.

I breastfed her exclusively for about a year before moving her on to solids. I fed her rice cereal and jars of baby food but only fruits. I bought a couple of jars of vegetables, took one sniff, and thought, Blech! I figured a baby surely wouldnt want to eat something that smelled that horrible, so I didnt make her eat any vegetables. I wish Id realized then how easy it is to blend or mash up real fruits and vegetables for a baby rather than relying on the prepackaged, processed stuff on store shelves.

It wasnt long before Breanna started eating the foods Dan and I ate. She joined us for meals that often included fried chicken, mashed potatoes with lots of butter, cheeseburgers and fries, cheesy enchiladas, white pastas with rich sauces, Stroganoff, chips, corn dogs, and ice cream, with rare fruits and hardly a vegetable in sight my own brand of down-home cooking. The litmus test for every meal I made boiled down to one question: Did it taste good? I didnt have any concept of how much salt or fat was in any given meal, nor did I make an effort to include whole grains or fresh produce. I was like a supercharged Paula Deen if a little butter was good, more was even better!