I've got to get NAKED!!!

Those words are being uttered more and more frequently by my son as he arrives home each afternoon from daycare. This is quickly followed by a full strip show and the inability to get him back into pants until bedtime brings about the jammies. What spurred on this need for nudity I don't know, though my mom tells me she had the same problem with me as a child. The fact that I have grown out of this affliction saddens my husband greatly. Whether it's genetics or just the way kids are doesn't matter. The fact is that it happens. My son is a nudist. And quite a proud one at that. God forbid we have company stop by when Zan is going through his nakey time, because he will gladly prance around for anyone and everyone and shake what his momma gave him. And if we're really lucky, he'll shout "Look everyone! Look at my BOOTY!!" Aaah, yes, children keep you humble.

Pulling a Full Monty for family and friends aside, I tend not to care whether my child wanders around naked. Now don't get me wrong, I'm cautious about it. He's only allowed to be naked indoors. There are far too many pervs out there for running down the sidewalk sans pants like I apparently did as a child. Perhaps being a former child nudist myself has helped me be comfortable with the notion that kids just don't like clothes. My husband, on the other hand, is totally wigged out by the idea. He'll spend his entire evening trying to coax Zan back into a pair of pants. Secretly this makes me laugh harder than the prancing naked child. I'm not exactly sure why, but it does.

I think really the only thing that bothers me about this new stage of his is that sometimes I worry people will think my child is always naked. This is not a huge worry in the grand scheme of things to stress about, but it does occur in my mommy mind. Mostly because every single time my brother and his wife pay us a visit, my child is naked. It's like he can sense Uncle Kent and Aunt Haley are traveling east and the closer they get, the more clothing he shucks. It never fails, but by the time they are there, planned visit or not, he's naked. Perhaps it wouldn't worry me so much if my brother and sister in law had kids of their own. Then they would know how the mind of a three year old works (or as much as any of us can truly know) and know it's just a kid thing. Instead I worry that they're secretly as freaked out by it as my husband is; which means, in the end, Zan and I are the odd ones for finding the whole thing totally normal.

Upon typing that sentence I realize life is never really normal once you have children. I guess my definition of normal has just evolved to include a child who walks around with a sticker stuck to his forehead and socks on his feet- but nothing else.