NORTH TONAWANDA — In most ways, I would love it if my children end up like me when they grow up.

But in at least one respect, I would do almost anything to avoid such a fate for them.

Anyone who’s seen me knows that, as it was once so eloquently put to the late Chris Farley, I exceed the maximum weight limit for my belt. I really don’t want Penny or Rigby to have to deal with the omnipresent weight issues that have followed me my entire life.

So when we ask Penny what she wants for lunch, and she responds with, “What toy will I get?” (in reference to the latest Happy Meal offering), I can’t help but feel dismayed.

We’ve done what I would consider to be a good job of offering Penny and Rigby balanced options. Both of them love blueberries and strawberries, while Rigby has a particular affinity for bananas and Penny will pop small tomatoes like they’re pieces of gum. Mix in applesauce, cereal and low-fat snacks such as pretzels and crackers, and they get plenty of nutritional bang for the buck.

But if I, an adult who knows that my poor food choices have caused so much damage to my internal operations, can’t help but give in to the temptation of a greasy fast-food hamburger or dripping piece of pizza, what chance do my kids have — especially when such meals are so frequently marketed specifically to them?

I’ve known since we became pregnant with Penny that I would have to set a better example at the dinner table. I generally watch what I eat now (even if I occasionally just watch food enter my mouth), and I’ve kept my little Mii quite busy on the “Wii Fit” since we acquired the game earlier this year (Penny and Rigby even play sometimes, watching and helping me do some of the dance moves).

But I know the day will soon come when Penny, as observant and brilliant as she is, will ask me a question along of the lines of, “Why are you so big?”

I am not certain how I will respond.

I want to tell her that I got this way by being lazy, by not caring for myself and by failing to taking responsibility for what I ate. I also want to show her by example that I am correcting my mistake, that there’s a better way to do things, that exercise and the right foods are what’s needed to maintain good health.

But I also don’t want to go overboard. By no means do I want to take away their childhoods. The occasional Happy Meal or chicken finger dinner won’t lead them down the dark path toward obesity.

But as the old parental adage goes, I want Penny and Rigby to learn from my mistakes and not repeat them.

I have heard enough jokes and insults to last the lifetimes of every contestant on “The Biggest Loser” combined. I’ve been forced to only shop at a couple of stores because most mall boutiques don’t carry my size. I’ve been the guy whose velocity impairment has caused arguments because some people on the team don’t think I deserve to play.

I want better for my babies. And, since I know it’s the job of those Happy Meal folks to move units, it’s not their fault for trying to sell more burgers. The responsibility is mine to keep most of those burgers out of my babies’ mouths (or, when we do get them, to make sure we get apple slices as a side instead of fries).

I should know. I’ve been me. Such experiences have probably made me a stronger person, but my babies can cultivate that strength elsewhere

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On a more light-hearted note, Penny turned 3 on Saturday and celebrated with a huge party in our backyard (she got a self-powered fire truck from us that actually sprays water — don’t be surprised if you see me driving it through the neighborhood or to work one afternoon).

Penny just turned 3, and she starts school in less than two months. She’s growing up so fast that I am convinced the next book she’ll ask me to read her will either be penned by Shakespeare or Stephen Hawking (or maybe one she wrote herself).

Happy birthday to my baby girl — and happy half-birthday to my baby boy (Rigby turned 18 months yesterday).