“Am I fat?” “No!” Voice wobbly: “I weigh eight pounds more than Shell.” “Oh, sweetpea.” She kneels down on the kitchen floor, gathering Bex into her lap. “You’re exactly the right size for you. Who cares how much Shell weighs? You’re beautiful and perfect just the way you are.” The wife fails, as a parent, on so many fronts. “You’re my perfect darling gorgeous girl.” But she will do this one thing right.
