by Rebecca Kilroy I Yunmai/Unsplash Our mothers’ diets were our third parents, hovering around the kitchen since we were kids. They packed us sandwiches on whole-wheat bread and 100 calorie snack-bags in our lunchboxes. They hung weight loss posters on the fridge next to our fingerpaint drawings. We saw them as soon as we learned to read. Our mother’s diets watched us. They poked out at us from mirrors. They gathered in the soft, helpless places — breasts and hips and thighs.