Name Game

My son, Victor, loves to give nicknames and they usually stick. He is Fishy, his twin brother, Oliver, is “O-leach,” my husband is Lollipop, and I, sadly enough, am Momma Jumbo.

I know.

When he first heard it my husband smartly stifled the laugh when he saw the fierce look in my eyes.

“Shut up, you’re Lollipop,” I snarled.

Why Momma Jumbo? We watch every Disney movie and while female characters are less common, there are still plenty to pick from. I do not “fit” the traditional princess mold in appearance or attitude so I understand why I didn’t get Cinderella or Snow White (even though I have dark hair). If he was stuck on a cartoon character there was Jessie from “Toy Story 2," or heck, I’d even take Dory.

My son shook his head. “No,” he said. Those names were not right.

My four-year-old son does not know about my life-long pre-occupation with my weight and my crazy body image issues.

He does not know that I have always felt fat even when I was not (although in case you are wondering, I am actually leaning more towards the fat end of the spectrum so I am a bit more sensitive to the whole Jumbo moniker). He doesn’t see the look on my face when I step on the scale or when I try on a pair of pants hoping that the size twelve will fit and the utter look of devastation when I realize I need the fourteens instead.

He doesn’t know that even when I am thin as I am so tall I always feel large. He does not know that I have secretly longed to be petite like a Disney Princess, to be the type of woman who is easily swept into the arms of her lover.

When I jokingly ask my husband to pick me up I see the momentary look of panic on his face.

So Momma Jumbo is hitting a bit too close to home. Regardless of actual physical size, most women do not want to be analogous to an elephant, especially one called Jumbo.