Prior to giving birth six months ago, I was generally discreet when it came to nudity. I mostly kept my private parts private. I never flashed, I never sexted, and I even had a special way to change shirts in ladies locker rooms that I’d developed back in high school gym class and carried with me through life. Until I started breastfeeding. That’s when all bets and bras were off, as I morphed into a freewheeling, free-titted free spirit. Instead of weighing me down, my engorged breasts were like two personal hot air balloons that elevated me above the confines of such societal norms that dictate that you ought not have a conversation on the couch with your mother-in-law while completely naked.
I haven’t even finished but this:
“It’s funny how unimportant the concept of ‘pride’ becomes, in those initial post-partum weeks. I liken it to an animal at the zoo, quietly taking a dump in front of a group of tourists and a class trip of school children.”
LOL, and also why I don’t want any house guests to stay at our house immediately after I return home from the hospital.