A story of nudity
Posted Tuesday 2nd September 2014 By Ericka Waller
So I can’t get my kids to keep their kit on. This love of nudity has nothing to do with me. I do not enjoy skipping about knicker-less. I can’t anyway, there would be nothing to stick my Tena-Lady to. I’d have to try and source one of those old Doctor White Sanitary belts my mum told me horror stories about
I like to hide what lies beneath. I’ve been known to safety-pin my t-shirt to my knickers in windy weather to stop Jabba-the-gut coming out (Guess which one is which?).
I did not feel sexy and confident. I just felt silly.
My bottom wibbled in my birthday-suit. I grappled to catch my breasts as I trotted round the island in the kitchen, then realised as I passed a mirror, one had slipped under my arm and was going round my back.
My tan lines make me look like I’ve been drawn on by a surgeon, pre-operation. Like Shakira, my hips don’t lie, and like Katy Perry I’ve got the thighs of a tiger (I’m sure that is what she sings).
One of my children (you know which one you are) used to tug my left nipple very hard before pulling off after a feed, and now it does not point forward as a good nipple should, it salutes the other one instead. Trying to get my breasts in a bra is like trying to push a tennis ball into a long woolly sock.
I don’t think my avoidance of nudity is just since I had a baby (and utterly destroyed my body). I cannot find any photos of me naked as a child. I can find lots of me in the garden wearing my brother’s Thundercat Y-fronts and him wearing my pink knicky-knocks, (you know which one brother you are, Mickey) but no bits exposed.
On family days down the beach, I would be the one buried under the sand… so deeply that when my head was covered by a bucket no one would know I was there.
But not my girls… my daughters of the sun, sisters of the moon. Check out my gallery of what they do when they see wet stuff, and what my mum did to me and my brothers whenever she saw any.
It will be interesting to see when this love of wearing nothing but a smile stops, and why. I wish we lived in a world where it did not have to. I love the way my gang skip about starkers with gay abandon.
I don’t envy them having to grow up in today’s body-obsessed society. I live next to a high school and it’s like watching a Next Top Model TV show when the girls strut past our drive. All I had when I was 13 was wet look gel, loo roll, and a body shop lip balm to work with.
Hopefully I will be able to teach my daughters that beauty is something that comes from within, and they will one day teach me to feel comfortable letting it all hang out.