17 months.
If it were up to my 17 month-old son, he would always be naked. Yes, Garden of Eden style; the way God originally intended.
Honestly, if it were up to me as opposed to common sense and sanitation concerns, I’d let him run around the house naked and free all the time.
I don’t blame him.
It is a joy to me to see the smile on his face when I do cut him a break and just let him run naked across the living room. So far, this has led to zero accidents.
Hey, I just want to see the boy be happy. In fact, I think it’s no coincidence that he never seems to be upset when he’s naked and not wet:
While he’s a bit bipolar when it comes to how he feels about bath time each night, the moment my wife dries him off, he gets giddy.
Because he’s naked and dry.
Assuming most toddlers feel the same way as my son, I imagine this ideal utopian society where toddlers get to work and live off the land; naked as they truly want to be.
The closest thing to this that I can think of is the Smurfs’ village, but even they saw a need for pants.
I assume the Smurfs at least tried in the beginning to be a nude ranch, but somehow a plot line involving Gargamel and his darned capitalist ways stopped them from reaching their true state of co-op nirvana with Grateful Dead serving as the constant soundtrack.
My kid is happy naked. He has no concerns about his nakedness. He’s not worried about how he looks nor does he compare himself to anyone.
That’s a young kid thing, I guess.
After all, if I as a 30 year-old man I went around admitting that I myself want to (or actually do) hang out naked whenever I’m in the privacy of my own house, it should be assumed that A) I’m weirder than most people thought and/or B) I am just simply living out the dream of a toddler.
Hey now… I said “if.”
