I didn't grow up in a naked house. Neither did Andy. Our parents were/are extremely modest. No one ever changed in front of one another, or walked around in their underwear, much less naked. To this day my father will change clothes if he finds out anyone is coming over, even his children, if he is wearing shorts. He doesn't want anyone to see his legs.
As a matter of fact I didn't even realize that naked houses existed until I got to college. One of my best friends grew up in a naked house. She had no problem flaunting her skivvies for the world to see all the while flat ironing her hair or smoking a cigarette. This phenomena floored me. No self-image body issues to be had, no embarrassment, just 'Here I am world, love it or go home to your own apartment." I had another friend who preferred to sleep naked. That was equally as baffling to me. What if there was a mid-night emergency and we were forced to run outside unexpectedly? Heck no. Not chancing it. Plus, I just liked the feel of something between my bare bottom and the sheets. Anything less just plain creeped me out.
Fast forward to the mid 2000s and imagine our bewilderment in having a child that, if given the opportunity, would never ever put on clothes. It didn't come up that day in the doctor's office. It wasn't until Austin was diagnosed with SPD and we entered occupational therapy that it finally made sense. A pre-visit questionaire went something like this:
__ distressed by clothes rubbing on skin; may want to wear shorts and short sleeves year round, toddlers may prefer to be naked and pull diapers and clothes off constantly
Jackpot.
I actually wrote out to the side of this bullet point and said that he would never wear clothes if he could get away with it. Our first appointment to the occupational therapist he wore his Halloween costume. I just chalked it up to his quirky-ness and took the path of least resistance by letting him wear it. She pointed out that it was spandex and tight and therefore soothing.
It is still a daily battle to get Austin to wear clothes. Even underwear. Once a week at least both boys will tear streaking out of the bathroom after a bath and Andy can be heard above the fray, "NO NAKED WRESTLING." It still creeps me out. How many times can I tell this kid: "We don't want to look at your penis. It is only for you to see. In private." Yet I continue trying to explain it. The best part about the therapy and diagnosis is that at least now I understand tactile defensiveness, and when I get really desperate, I pull out the Halloween costume and all is right with the world.
