The Naked Truth

When I was younger I used to admire my mother. She would walk out of the shower, wash her face, blow dry her hair, apply her make-up, and walk into her bedroom to get dressed, all while being naked. Today I can visualize her naked. She was beautiful. Her breasts, much larger than mine or my sister, even to this day, were beautiful. They weren't these large droopy breasts you see on old ladies, they were nice, full and...beautiful.
As I grew older, entering the self-conscious teenage years, I used to cover my eyes and cry out, "Mom!" when she strolled around the house naked, but secretly I still peeked. As my twenties came around and she still strutted around the house in her birthday suit my jealousy grew larger. I realized what made my mothers body so beautiful was her carefree nature about it. It was if she didn't realize she was naked, as if we weren't looking. And here I was, towel wrapped around my body, running from the bathroom into my bedroom when I forgot one and positioned in all sorts of strange positions, so you couldn't see all my goods, when my mother or sister happened to walk in. I never told my mother this, or let on that I was shy about my body, but years later, after I was married, I was still conscious of my movements. If my husband was around when I was dressing or coming out of the shower I would suck my stomach in, lift my arms up in the air, angling them in a way in which he thought I was fixing my hair when I was really trying to make my breast look superbly perky and great, and casually (put quickly) cover myself back up.
Now, my mother's in her sixties, and still naked, I spent our last holiday having a conversation with her while she did her hair and make-up, in the nude, and I sat on the floor sipping coffee and enjoying the only minute alone with my mother while my children napped, I recognize her nakedness. I don't mean 'her' nakedness, I guess I mean the nature of her 'nakedness.' In all my body hiding, and body obsessing years, somewhere along my children baring line I started frolicking in the nakedness too. Now, my body has seen the likes of two children, my breasts have surrendered to hungry mouths, and I'm no where as tight and perky as I was in my twenties, yet clothes seem to elude me. I too now get out of the shower and stand around naked. I leave my towel in the bathroom and walk, nakedly, into the bedroom and stand around while I lay out my clothes and get dressed. My husband stares, my children cry out for mommy to hold them, yet I take my time, leave my arms down at my sides and bend over to kick up things, all in my nakedness. And even my husband has noticed and started to call attention to it.
"For crying out loud, will you put some clothes on. These kids are getting to old for you to walk around naked all the time."
Maybe it's a motherhood thing, or a grown up thing, but whatever it is I'm sure not about to cover up just yet. I've spent to many years behind the towel.