I once prided myself on being a modest individual. At the gym, I was the shy one, patiently waiting for a private shower stall while my more daring girlfriends confidently stripped down for a rinse. Desperation would occasionally force me to shower in my swimsuit—definitely not my finest moment. That was the old me, pre-baby.
Now? I’m the one hastily yanking off my bathing suit before the locker room door even closes, because I’ve got a mere 45 seconds to shower before my baby starts demanding milk from his hapless caretaker. Modesty? Forget about it.
I never imagined I’d find myself in a bathroom surrounded by three people urging me to have a bowel movement. Sure, I knew this day might come eventually, but definitely not before hitting my nineties. Potty-time spectators became part of my birthing saga, their enthusiasm for my bowel movements met with my own stage fright. Spoiler alert: it didn’t end well.
After that little de-pooping fiasco, any remaining traces of modesty vanished when I gave birth, all while five people and an iPhone documented the event. Yes, someone even removed my top to prepare for the first public feeding of my newborn.
No one warned me that motherhood would wash away my modesty like a tidal wave of baby love. As I began nursing, my newfound boldness was put to the test when my brother-in-law walked in. My instinct screamed to cover up, but a rebellious “whatever” echoed in my mind, making it clear that feeding my hungry infant took precedence.
Since becoming a mom, I’ve experienced a liberating transformation:
- Goodbye, Bras! In those early weeks postpartum, I ditched not just the bra but the shirt too. My sore breasts meant I didn’t want to deal with the hassle of adjusting my clothing every 15 minutes. Peeping Toms outside my window would have seen a drooling, topless woman with a hungry baby and a man repeating, “I think the baby’s hungry again.” Now, I only wear a bra for weddings or funerals—unless I can wear a cute dress that doesn’t require one.
- Flatulence is Real. Everyone farts; it’s a fact. Holding it in just leads to crankiness and discomfort. Having a baby seems to relax everything, so my motto is now, “if you gotta go, let it flow”—in all meanings possible. While I may not yet be at the level of my grandparents, who unabashedly let it rip at the dinner table, I’m getting there.
- Food on My Shirt? Pass it Here! Since having a baby, I’ve found myself covered in everything from baby poop to unidentified goo. In my pre-baby days, I would have changed outfits over a coffee spill. Now, it takes a mini geyser of spit-up for me to even consider changing, which just adds to my ever-growing laundry pile.
- Oops, I Peed My Pants! The thought of public urination was once horrifying to me. Now, I make sure I’m wearing black yoga pants to hide any leaks from laughing or bouncing too much. And if anyone notices an odd smell? Blame it on the baby.
- Wedgie? No Problem! Thanks to childbirth, everything “down there” is now a bit larger, which means my underwear often takes a hike. I have zero qualms about reaching down to adjust my clothing, no matter where I am. Sorry if it offends you, guy in the grocery store—feel free to adjust your own clothing while you’re at it.
- “Something Smells…” Yep, That’s Me. When I can’t squeeze in a proper shower (which is pretty much always), I take what I call a “Mom Bath.” This genius routine involves piling on extra deodorant and a few spritzes of perfume in a desperate attempt to mask the scent of baby poop, greasy hair, and general chaos.
Modesty can really be a nuisance if you let it take charge. It can hold you back and make you fixate on how you look. Who cares if someone raises an eyebrow at your newfound boldness? What matters is that you feel free and happy in your own skin.
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Summary
Motherhood has dramatically transformed my sense of modesty, leading to some liberating changes in my life. From ditching bras to embracing bodily functions, I’ve learned to let go of societal expectations and just be myself. Embracing this new reality allows me to focus on what really matters—my baby and my happiness.