Apparently I caused my mother varying degrees of exasperation (and embarrassment, I’m sure) when I was a small child because I refused to keep my clothes on. According to her, I could be counted on to take my clothes off and start streaking at any given moment. After my night-time bath it was nearly impossible to get me into my pajamas. And once my jammies came off the next morning, it was rather difficult to talk me into getting dressed.
Hunh.
Fast forward to today…
‘Naked’ is the new black. 😀
Why the hell should I wear clothes? Especially inside my own four walls? The answer: I shouldn’t!
Also… Exhibitionist, much?
Affirmative! 😉
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So I had a delightful conversation with me Mum over the weekend. Besides recounting various embarrassing (to her ~ not to me) anecdotes about my early onset of independence, she (unknowingly) snapped a few ethereal puzzle pieces into place for me. My proclivity for abandoning clothing was just one of the interlocking grooves that went ‘click’.
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I’ve often wondered why I am so different from my siblings. I’ve mentioned this before, but I tend to find myself listening to/looking at/thinking about my fellow spawn and shaking my head in bewilderment. Why am I the only one who __________? (Fill in the blank with any activity that has naturally negative consequences, and you will get the picture.) Perhaps the stork delivered me to the wrong people? Did the postman do more than ring twice? It baffles me.
Except after talking to She Who Made Me…
Maybe it doesn’t baffle me, after all.
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The age-old argument (no, not the one about which one came – heh – first) about nature versus nurture is definitely at work here. Regardless of what you believe in regards to birth order, birth month, birth sign, birth year, etc.: The simple fact of the matter is that, in some ways, we are who we are. The circumstances of our birth influence who we are. And we are that way from the beginning. Regardless of parenting (of lack thereof), hereditary traits, social strictures, and other post-birth poppycock.
Things that make you go hmmm…
For example: According to Mumsy, when I was a baby (newborn), I refused to be swaddled. I would pitch a fit of Biblical proportions and scream down the walls, kicking and fighting until I got out of the cocoon. I wanted to move. To be active. To be FREE. To do my own thing, even while I was sleeping. My youngest sister, on the other hand, wanted to be wrapped up tight and held. All the time. Cried for mom if she wasn’t near by.
To this day, I am independent. Can’t stand to be tied down. Literally (bondage is for OTHER people), emotionally (my heart has a mind of its own, and I adore my husband for not trying to rein it in), professionally (I’m definitely an entrepreneur), or in any other way. I’m not remotely interested in being coddled (being cherished is something else entirely), and when I feel cooped up I cope by busting out in some way, shape, or form. (And woe be to he who tries to stop me!)
Little sis, on the other hand, is extremely dependent on my parents. She’s a boomerang child. (She’s spent the majority of her adult life under my parents’ roof.) She still lives in the same town where she was raised and shows no interest in ever leaving. When she does separate herself from the ‘rents (if you consider ten miles to be a separation), she gets into all kinds of trouble. Amendment: Trouble. (Yeah, that kind.) And when trouble strikes, she still cries to mom.
I stopped judging a long time ago. At this point, I’m just trying to understand.
And ~ after a particularly enlightening conversation with Mom ~ I think I do.
Finally.
Because despite the fact that we exited the same woman’s birth canal and should ~ considering the similarities in our raisin’ (nurture) ~ be a lot alike, the simple fact of the matter is that being alike is not what nature intended.
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And speaking of nature…
I’ll be back to my natural state (nekkid!) soon. (Wanton Wednesday is tomorrow, after all.) My ‘A-Ha!’ moment is officially over. 😉
