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Hiding under there

We spent all of yesterday (July 4th) in the pool at our friends’ house, which was wonderful. All four of us are exhausted and a little bit sunburnt and made up of 90% watermelon at this point—basically exactly what you expect from a July 4th celebration.

H is the only girl out of the four kids, and the youngest, and she used to kind of sit off to the side and make confused faces at the three boys while they ran around and made a lot of noise. Now she’s more likely to be leading the running-and-noise-making charges.

I took her into the bedroom to change into her swimsuit, and she took off her shirt—laid it neatly on a chair. Took off her skirt—laid it neatly on the shirt. Took off her underwear—and carefully tucked them in between the shirt and skirt. Then put on her swimsuit.

I said, “Did you just hide your underwear in between your other clothes?” And she said, “Yes.” I said, “Why?” And she said, “…I don’t know.” I’ve never consciously hidden her underwear or told her to do that. (I mean, other than when they’re on her body.) It was just such a classic doctor’s appointment move? Where you hide your underwear in the middle of your other clothes? Even though you’re about to have, like, a pap smear?

So I don’t know. When I’m making lists of things I hope I ingrain in my kids, it’s like, 1. Kindness. 2. A healthy relationship to their bodies. 3. A healthy relationship to food. Etc. So hiding your underwear is fine, as long as it doesn’t imply anything else. (It definitely stood out against the other kids, who were all basically changing into their swim trunks in the foyer.)

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