My ten-year-old son storms into my bedroom, plants his feet, fixes his eyes on me and bellows, "I can't take it anymore. He won't stop banging his drums when I'm trying to play Guitar Hero! Can you pleeeeeeeease help me? Now?"
"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 naked.
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, still bare 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."
There are certain inalienable rights associated with the family. For me, nudity is one of them.
"What about when they're teenagers?"
"You might want to rethink things then."
But I didn't want to rethink things. There are certain inalienable rights associated with the family. For me, nudity 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 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?
A strong case can be made that when your children are toddlers, nudity is not negotiable. When flying solo with my kids, my trips to the bathroom and showers were rarely unaccompanied. Doors were never locked. Unfettered access was a safety issue. But somewhere around age four or five, that argument no longer holds water. It's at that point that parents choose how they want things to be.
©2008 Emily Mendell and Nerve Media
About the Author
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Emily Mendell’s essays have appeared in the Philadelphia Inquirer and she is a regular contributor to iParenting.com. Her story, No Longer a Rookie, will be included in Chicken Soup for the Soul: A Tribute to Moms in early 2008. She lives the Philadelphia suburbs with her husband and two sons and is getting ready to launch her first blog, mothersofbrothers.com, in the Spring. |
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