The problem with this messy and complicated relationship with food and weight is that for me, the quest for body positivity looks a lot like Sisyphus rolling that rock up the hill—minus the cardio, leaving only the struggle.
I slid into a tube, on my knees, draped over a barrel. With my head tucked in, arms stretched ahead Super Girl style, my hooters hung out like socks on a clothesline.
Why in the world do they want me to watch them poop? Most people like privacy when they are using the commode, but my three kids, they prefer an audience. AND not just your regular onlooker, they want me to be a participatory observer and admirer.
Like many people, I enjoy a good cooking show from time to time. I have…