I walk around my house in the buff. Is it scarring my kids?
“Sure – just give me two secs.”
He huffs back towards the playroom, glancing over his shoulder at me to make sure I am on my way to save him from his younger brother. A typical exchange between mother and son, with one exception: I am completely without clothes.
He caught me coming out of the shower at the precise moment when the wet towel went up on the hook and I was figuring out what to wear that day. The bedroom door was open and I was routing through my underwear drawer when confronted with his urgent problem. Yet neither one of us skipped a beat. I may as well have been standing there in a full-length parka, boots and a hat. It was a non-event for both of us.
Later, I ask my husband, “Do you think it’s creepy that I still let the boys see me without clothes on?”
“It’s not creepy. It’s not like you prance around or anything.”
“So, as long as there is no prancing, it’s okay?”
“I think so.”
“What about when they’re teenagers?”
“You might want to rethink things then.”
But I didn’t want to rethink things. For me, there are certain inalienable rights associated with the family: not worrying about what I’ve got on is one of them.
My feelings are not rooted politically. I am not taking any sort of stand on freedom of expression. And I’m certainly not making bold statements about “not being ashamed of my body.” At thirty-nine years old, I clearly sport some body parts that are worthy of a little shame. But these are the humans to whom I am the closest of anybody in the entire world. If, so to speak, they are the fruit of my loins – why should I have to rush to cover said loins?
When your kids are toddlers, it’s hardly an issue. For most moms, ttrips to the bathroom and showers are rarely unaccompanied, and doors are never locked for safety reasons. But when your kids are around age four or five, things change. It’s at that point that parents choose how they want things to be.
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