Earlier today I as I sat at my computer, checking in on "my" websites, I looked down at the sleeping baby in my arms (yes, I'm a multi-tasker), and realized that I was utterly and brazenly topless.  Both breasts were happily bathing in the warm glow of the computer screen.

It's funny how quickly modesty goes out the window with the process of pregnancy, delivery, and motherhood.  As time goes on and children grow, modesty and decency is brought back bit by bit, but for a time, new mothers are just WRONG.  Haha.

When my mom was staying with me, I would dart across the hall in my bra and maternity panties.  I would raid the hall closet for a clean towel as quickly as I could in hopes that I would not inflict my round, pregnant, barely clothed form on her innocent eyes.

I didn't think I would have her in the delivery room.  It would just be me and Adrian, I thought.

Instead, both mom and Adrian were present, eyes fixed on my nether regions as baby Izzy emerged.  Even my boys were in the room, although they slept through the excitement. 

I have a myriad of photos (from different angles!) of my womanly business, well lit by the doctor's delivery light, visibly bulging, with a patch of baby head peaking out.  And I'm glad.  I missed some of the magic of the delivery since I was a little bit busy at the time.  So now I can look back at these graphic photos and appreciate the experience even more.

I've had many conversations involving words like cervix, areola, and discharge.

Even my middle child understands the word, "birth canal".

Breastfeeding, the wonderful, natural experience that it is, has also lowered the standards for decorum in our home.  I don't even attempt to cover up in front of my boys.  They are modest children and won't usually even allow me (a girl!!) to see them in their underwear, and yet the other day I found my middle child asking me why my nipples were brown (answer:  pregnancy hormones...the darkening of the areolas makes it easier for the newborn to see the nipple which aids latching on for breastfeeding).

A couple days later he asked if they were still brown.  I told him, "Yes, I think so" (I was on the couch nursing Isabella at the time).  He looked at me, then down at my chest and said, "I think I need to check."

I had to tell him no, that it was not necessary.

Our entire family has reached a whole new level of body comfort as it applies to pregnancy and baby care.  The boys would, even now, shriek if they saw me in my bra and panties, and yet, they don't give a second thought to the sight of me nestled on the couch with a boob out in the open, feeding the baby.

"XYZ" has been replaced with "you're dripping milk" or "Mom, you're leaking".

I'm happy that my boys are learning to accept the female body as an amazing, functional form with purpose rather than simply as an object designed for sexual titillation.  I'm glad we're all so comfortable with these natural, healthy things.

Every so often, though, I find myself shocked by the fact that I'm topless while answering a ringing phone or signing a permission slip.  Only a sliver of modesty remains.