Monday, July 7, 2014


Children change things. That’s a given and, really, only something Captain Obvious would point out. But there are situations where the change is more dramatic than others. 

In the area of modesty, I feel that my life has probably changed more dramatically than the average Jane’s.

Prior to children, I was an exceptionally modest person: I dressed modestly; I did not participate in inappropriate or crude conversation; I avoided potentially embarrassing situations...

That was then. Now is the exact opposite of Then

You’ve heard the expression, “Chivalry is dead”? Well, in my world, Modesty is dead. It has been brutally hunted down and killed by the combined forces of pregnancy, child-rearing, and the alarming levels of testosterone within my home.

Obviously, I have been aware that modesty was on a slippery slope for quite some time now. But I did not realize how little (none whatsoever) remained until a few days ago when Andy barged on me in the restroom, looked me up and down, then ran back out, laughing, to tell everyone, “Mama’s naked!”

Here are just a few more examples that prove the complete and utter deadness of my modesty.


While in college, I went on a mission trip to Panama City Beach, and forgot my swimsuit. When I went to purchase one, there were only two-pieces in the store. And by two-piece, I do not mean bikini; I mean boy shorts and tankini top. Even though I had a perfectly fine physique in college, I forced a friend to follow me into the water so that I could throw her the towel I was wearing when I was deep enough to dive in. I was humiliated to think that my naked mid-drift might be seen.

When I got engaged, I opted out of both a lingerie shower and a bachelorette party. I was I way too embarrassed to open gifts of skimpy undergarments in front of an audience, especially since I had no intention of wearing them anyway. The few, random gifts of lingerie that were given to me in private stayed boxed up for a long, long time.  

I’ve skipped every annual female well-exam since the ONE that I scheduled prior to marriage. I have no desire to be examined. I’ve always assumed I’d die of the embarrassment long before any diagnosis could get me. 


I’ve traded in those 7 well-visits for approximately 45 OB visits, 3…um, internal ultrasounds, 3 C-sections preceded by repeated “checks”, 3 hospital stays that included catheters, assisted bathroom breaks, and assisted showers, and 3 nursing babies that are assessed by know-no-boundaries lactation consultants. 

Because of all the OB exams and deliveries, along with all the nursing, I am pretty sure there are very few people left that have not seen me at least partially nude.


For at least the first couple of years of marriage, I ran the water every single time I had to pee so that Ken could not hear me through the door. 

Up until the time that Andy arrived, I refused to do anything other than pee if Ken was anywhere in the house. That meant I had to drive home from teaching at 90 MPH each day to make sure there was enough time to take care of all needs prior to his return home. If I had an emergency situation and HAD TO GO while Ken was home, I would go ahead and take a shower, too, so that he wouldn’t get suspicious about why the water was running for so long.

In public restrooms, I would sing to cover the sound of my peeing. I would rather have my intestines explode than do anything other than pee in a public restroom. 


I haven’t used the bathroom or taken a shower alone in over three years.

Andy insists on checking out the contents of the toilet prior to flushing when he, or anyone else, uses it. He also likes to inform the other members of the house exactly what the toilet user is doing, and how it’s going, and how it smells.

Since he can’t really talk yet, Finnick gets in on the bathroom action by poking my belly button while I potty. 

In public restrooms, Andy often cheers me on while I pee. Loudly. Then he will ask me if I need to pooh-pooh, too.  

Since Andy doesn’t understand the concept of privacy, he also airs all my other private business to anyone. After my recent shaving tragedy, he informed my MIL over the phone, “We had to go to Wal-Mart to get some medicine for Mama because her tee tee has been sick.” Thanks, baby. Not quite accurate, not to mention that Grannie probably would have been content with a simple, “We went to Wal-Mart” rather than the lovely mental image you just gave her. 
(To read about the shaving tragedy, click here: Pregnancy Advice I Would Give Myself)


I refused to fold Ken’s underwear the first six months or so of our marriage. It just felt weird touching anything that had touched his naked behind. Plus, other people’s underwear gross me out. 

I enforce a strict No Gas Passage policy while in my company. Gas is to stay inside the restroom. Loud gas passage should really be covered by the sound of running water. Gas’s cousin, Burping, is only allowed with a closed mouth.
I hate the word “poop” and all of its variations. I taught my kids to use the word “potty”. I considered anything else too graphic and crude to be yelled out in the middle of Wal-Mart when my child announces to the world what he needs to do.


I wash boys’ underwear at least three times a week, plus change dirty diapers multiple times each day.

Andy loves to play around by saying things like, “I’m gonna toot on your eyeballs,” or dance around grabbing his cheeks and yelling, “Naked hiney!” when he’s getting ready for bed. Even Finnick, who only knows a total of about seven words, already knows the word "naked". He likes to pull up his shirt, smack his naked belly, and yell, "NAKED!"

Andy thinks it’s funny to come climb in my lap right before he toots.  Finnick is even worse; he toots directly in my face, and I swear he aims straight for my nostrils.


If anyone ever struck up a conversation, or made a joke, about bedroom behavior, or nakedness, or anything else potentially considered crude, crass, or otherwise inappropriate, I made a beeline out of the room. This occurred more often than one might think at the teachers’ lunch table or even ladies’ Bible study.


The majority of my conversations include fun topics like the many color variations of poop, the causes of vomit, naked hineys, where babies live, where babies come from, how the baby is going to come out of my body, and why I can’t pee standing up.


  1. Oh, Catie, you really should write a book! I love it, keep up the good work!