Everybody's always naked.

There are many difficulties that come with having small children, we've learned. One of those things is getting poop on your hands at least once a day, and being okay with it because it happens so frequently. Just the other day my two-year-old came up to me and gently took my hand and beckoned me down to his level. Expecting a sweet slobbery kiss I leaned in close and he whispered into my ear the word that makes every mom weak in the knees.

"Poooop."

Swoon. He then led me to his room where I proceeded to change his diaper, and of course the only way we've made diaper changes pleasant, and not kicking fights, is by making them fun. So we goof off, we play with his pants, I tickle his thighs and his belly. But of course when you don't put the splayed open dirty diaper far enough away, the playful kicks that the tickling inevitably create turn into a mess far bigger than you ever imagined, and you learn what white bead board looks like with human waste smeared across it (turns out, it's a delightful greenish gold.)

This is one of the less fun aspects of having small children. But of course, there are benefits.

And one of those benefits is that clothing is basically optional.

You think I'm talking about his clothing, don't you.

I'm talking about our entire family, and the fact that we almost never have to do the laundry.

We live a good hour-and-a-half drive away from our closest family and friends, so we don't get a lot of visitors. I'm breastfeeding, which means my shirt is always half-off anyway. We've got a newborn that poops and spits up on everything (and somehow manages to pee on everything, too. Chalk it up to the fire-hose in the basement), a toddler who has perpetually drooled since he was 2-months-old (and still does), who is currently experimenting with drinking out of big-boy cups (the non-sippy variety), and a husband who, quite frankly, breaks a sweat from simply changing from a sitting to a standing position.

We're a messy, messy family.

So basically, we're all naked. All the time.

Not buck naked. Obviously. (We're not crazy...) But I usually don't have a shirt on for breastfeeding ease, Matt's usually in whatever he slept in the night before, Oliver generally isn't wearing pants and often not even a t-shirt, and the smallest one only puts clothes on if we're going to be seen by the general public. And that's okay, because the kiddos are small enough that they don't realize how ridiculous and dysfunctional it seems is to be naked all the time.

But it just makes sense for us. That's just the way we do things. It's comfortable, and cozy, and we like it that way. And in a way, it keeps us all a little closer.

Every time we hug, we touch skin-to-skin. We feel the warmth of one another, the softness, our hearts are just that much closer together as they beat. I can see every freckle on my little boy's body, he can slap a rhythm on the tops of his knees as he watches Barney, every time I walk past him I can graze the peach fuzz on the top of his back with my fingertips because it tingles in the most magical pixie dust way. My husband and I can experience a tiny little taste of the intimacy that we lose when we spend all day chasing little ones around. In seeing each other, or hugging or slow dancing in the kitchen while we cook/clean.

All without our shirts on, of course.

And one day when our kiddos are older, we'll of course take that extra minute in the morning to throw on some proper attire, but for now we're enjoying the freedom.

So if you pop by for a visit, if it takes me an extra minute to get to the door, I'm probably running to throw on the nearest non-breastmilk-stained t-shirt I can find. Trust me, you won't mind the wait.