My Life in the Nudist Colony

I can't say when my hatred of clothes began, but it started at a very early age. My parents would be able to figure out where I was by following a trail of socks, shorts, t-shirt and finally a diaper or underpants and eventually catch me running around as naked as the day I was born, usually getting into something I shouldn't be. I grew up on a farm where the nearest neighbors we're nearly a mile away so nudity never was an issue. As kids, we never had bathing suits to swim at the river, underwear or our birthday suits were swimsuit enough. Even as teenagers, my sister and I regularly sunbathed on the dock of our pond in nothing but a smile back when tan lines were our biggest worries. It never occurred to me that it was a taboo thing to do. In college I lounged around my house in my underwear comfortably, not worrying if my roommates popped in my room or whether the neighbors caught a peek while I grabbed the mail from the box on the door. I just never was that worried about it. I went to art school and would routinely pose for classmates who needed a model. I was always comfortable in my own skin. It was clothes that made me miserable. It was such a pain to find something flattering, comfortable, matching, and on top of that, CLEAN! And to do this day after day, ugh...

When I moved to Israel clothes went from being a bit of a bother to the bane of my existence. There is no nice way of saying it. Israel is the summer is HOT. Not just hot, miserably, sticky, sweaty HOT HOT HOT! Luckily the culture here is very relaxed, people live in beach wear. Breezy skirts and bathing suit tops under tanks are perfectly acceptable work attire at many offices. After all, it is more than likely that the workers spent the morning on the beach before heading into work. The shuk has hundreds of beautifully dyed silk skirts, harem pants from India, and fishermen style wrap pants from Thailand that you can get for around 35 shek (about 8 USD), sometimes less if your good at bartering, or better at flirting. I happen to be fairly good at both and quickly stocked my formerly somber wardrobe that consisted mainly in blacks, greys and red fitted silhouettes with bright colors and patterns, everything flowey and breezy, nothing touching my skin. It was the next best thing to naked and since I was working full time it was as good as I could get.

This was great the first two summers I spent here. My third summer I got pregnant. Very quickly I grew out of all my lovely breezy clothes, despite their elastic waistbands. On top of that our washing machine, not so affectionately nicknamed Old Whacky Whacky for the helicopter like noises it made during its 5 hour wash cycle, died a not so peaceful death. Since I was already bedridden for numerous reasons I just gave up on clothes. I think I wore clothes a total of 35 times from August to late April. Firstly, I wasn't going anywhere, secondly NOTHING fit, and frankly, I couldn't be bothered to do laundry by hand and I sure as shit couldn't be bothered to trek to a laundry mat!!!

We finally got a new machine when we moved apartments as we knew we were going to be cloth diapering and therefore really needed a working washer. I did oh, A MILLION loads of laundry in those first few days to catch up on all of the clothes from when Old Whacky Whacky was broken. After the baby came, my clothes still didn't really fit. Since I hadn't been wearing clothes, I hadn't bothered to buy any maternity outfits either. This resulted in my still fat post preggo, post Csection, weirdly shaped, little 70 year old fat man bod not fitting in ANYTHING. Ok I have like 3 tshirt style dresses and a pair of leggings that I throw on for trips to the market or to the family for Friday card nights but other than that, nada.. I need a case of Crisco and a 5 story building to get into anything proper.

To be honest, I don't think I would wear stuff anyways. On top of everything I'm breastfeeding, and I'm lazy. I figure bottles take what 10 mins to prepare? 5 minutes best case scenario?? Yeah, definately too lazy for that, not to mention I'm pretty sure my son thinks he would die of starvation if he had to wait that long. Straight from the tap with a Shirt, bra and breast pads takes about 45 seconds to a minute to get organized and baby eating. Hmmm.. Still too much time. Have you ever HEARD how loud a hungry baby can scream?? Topless? Baby to boob in 3.5 seconds. We have a winner!! When you have a little fat man like mine, those few extra seconds are the difference between a hungry whimper and all out War!

So I've taken to running around the house in nothing but underwear, hubby and little man too. As hot as it is and with only one fan and no central air its hard for me to fathom wearing much else. This of course does have its interesting moments. I get so used to my nudist life that I forget about the neighbors and run outside to bring the diapers in off the line. Its also quite an adventure when friends or family decide to drop by unannounced. Choruses of "Rega!!(wait)" can be heard through the door as we scramble for the nearest items of clothing. Then there are the great moments when the boobs are ready for baby but the baby is asleep, or I'm changing a diaper, resulting in a sort of "milky brick road" from point a to point b until I can grab a towel, tissue or t-shirt to staunch the flow. My husband looking on in horror at the fountained spray, a sort of milky version of the Austin Powers Fem-Bots.

My son is such a naked baby too. He is happiest in only a diaper. Strike that. He is happiest in nothing but his birthday suit, but as often as I get peed on, I pretty much insist on that little fold of cloth between him and me. If he has it his way he would be naked all the time, free to stick his little hands in whatever interesting substance erupted from his little body, bare butt to the world. I literally have to fight my in-laws every visit to keep the clothes OFF of him. Our last conversation went something like this: (again, imagine bad Hebrew punctuated with English and Russian)

All of us and a few friends of the family sitting around a table on the patio with Bub sleeping nearby.

Friend of family (Mother to two, Babuska to two): "Why no pants on the Yeled (baby boy)??"

Me: "It's a million degrees outside! He doesn't like to be hot."

FOF: "But he's Catanchik(little little) He gets cold!!"

Me: "But the doctor said.....(yeah, not gonna lie, this approach didnt work this time)"

FOF: "No. He needs Pants. I'm Wearing Pants, She's wearing pants (pointing to MIL), He's wearing pants (Hubby) You're wearing pants (me). Baby NEEDS PANTS!!!!!"

Me (at the end of my rope): "Its HOT!!! He doesn't NEED Pants!! If you all weren't here I wouldn't be wearing Pants either!!! I hate pants!! He hates Pants!! NO PANTS!!!!"

Things got quiet after that....

I wonder at what point I will have to curb my nudity around the little man. Right now he just sees me as lunch on the go, free range, snack when ya wanna, boobie for baby kinda thing. I walk in the room and he smiles, mouth open wide, head shaking from side to side in anticipation. I don't think I have the same appeal when he's 13 and his friends are over to hang out in the living room. At least not for him, and I don't particularly want to become the subject of teenage fantasies, particularly not at the expense of my son. I think nothing of it now. He's a baby. I hope to raise him in a natural home where he is not afraid of the human body, where he is comfortable enough to ask questions and not feel ashamed. I also don't want to em-bare-ass him (pun intended) or make him feel uncomfortable in those oh so awkward teenage years.

I figure the only solution when he starts asking questions is to move somewhere VERY cold. I'm kidding... Sort of. I have gotten fairly used to the freedom of it, freedom from heat, freedom from being bound by buttons and elastic and snaps and ties, and most of all, freedom from tons of laundry!! For now we are free to run around our house as G-d intended us, and some day in the future when the little man is old enough to notice, I might have to invest in a robe, or be like those Hollywood types who run around in a bathing suit and heels (Imagine that!! haha). Until then, life will remain comfortable, free from the confinement of buttons and tons of laundry, and occasionally sprinkled with milk:).