amenopausalmom.com

I recall being younger, back in high school and even a bit later in college, and being terrified of appearing naked in public.

Step into a locker room and all I could feel was my heart pounding against my chest as I walked over to the bench and tried to take off my clothes and put on my workout garb without showing any part of my nakedness to the rest of the women surrounding me.

They, however, did not have this issue. By they I mean the older ones, the broads with boobs down to their knees. The ones you really didn’t want to see naked.

They let it all hang out, all over. In my space sometimes, even, and then, rather than cover up their C section scars and their sun spots and their rampant pubic hair they jiggled everything around and, gasp, spoke to me! “How are you today? Good workout?” in this self confident voice that I couldn’t believe.

I, in the meantime, attempted to cover up my private areas with my hands or towel or brush while averting direct eye contact.

What did they mean, talking to me while I was naked?

Then I had a baby.

I went through my ob/gyn appointments naked.

I lay out on the c section table naked, a group of doctors and nurses watching. I was even asked if I could allow an intern to participate in my second c section! I was hopped up on a morphine drip, arms strapped down, everything exposed under the bright white lights of an operating room. What was I going to say? “No, this really isn’t a good time for me?”

Then there were the enemas because, of course, I couldn’t ‘let one fly’ as my mother liked to say.

And the shavings.

And the catheter.

There was the breastfeeding, of course, and the problems associated with it, which constituted inviting in yet another stranger to wrestle my milkless boob into the baby’s mouth. Nothing like having some stranger twist and turn your boob as though it is a glob of playdough.

There were all of this stuff where, you know, I was naked as a jaybird in front of all of the world.

At some point, I stopped being nervous about it. I stopped thinking, as I stepped out of my panties, “Please let me have shaved today!”

I stopped worrying that my breasts weren’t as perky as they used to be. That my belly wasn’t as fit. I stopped thinking about that damn C section scar.

This morning I went to the gym. I stepped out of my bathing suit with pride. I didn’t hide anything. This is a mom’s body! I thought with pride. I have battle scars! I have survived!

While I was pulling on my shorts, my chest still exposed for all the world to see, a young twenty-something bombshell walked up and, of course, put her stuff right down next to mine. Her augmented breasts were perched high on her chest, her stomach was as flat as a board. They could have developed Barbie after her measurements.

She stripped right there in front of me, tossing aside her clothes as though she were sorting her wash. Then she turned my way, forgetting (or not!) that she was completely nude.

I lifted my hand to shield my post-baby breasts. She smiled a blindingly white smile and said, “Good morning! Did you have a great workout today?”