With 3 boys under 5, there’s never a dull moment. Certainly never a quiet one… Buggy Blogger mum to J (4), B (3) and S (1) is spared few blushes these days.

'Oh it's all soooo embarrassing!' What, what? Well, motherhood, that's what.

It all kicks off with labour of course. Semi-naked, legs akimbo and surrounded by folks you don't remember being introduced to, I guess it should be obvious to us all at this point that things ain't looking rosy. Except of course one's face which in my case was undeniably rose-hued. How appropriate to have entered motherhood in a flush. Start as you mean to go on, eh?

Because though I may have thought that through becoming a parent I'd morph seamlessly into a mature and dignified grown-up, I've had more than my fair share of crimson-faced moments since becoming a mummy. Dignity. What dignity?

Like what? Well, whatever modesty I might've harboured about my less-than perfect bod has now gone unceremoniously AWOL. At home, showers are a public event and I'm eye-balled curiously when getting dressed of a morning. 'Where's your willy' (naturally), 'Why you wearing that?' (bra), 'Why you got extra elbows?' (contents of bra), and so on.

But why stop there when I can be helped to expose myself further afield as well? B's a great one for dragging my hipster jeans alarmingly down at the pockets in public. S's specialist trick is yanking my swimming cossie straps down at the pool. And both of them conspire to make me flash bits where the sun don't usually shine by requiring me to lean dangerously forward propelling scooters or guiding tottery walking attempts. (Must consign those low-necked tops to the bottom drawer for a bit.)

And then there's the great toilet showcase. Solo, unscrutinised trips to the loo these days are few and far between. There's all that trying to spot my hidden willy. Or trying to work out what the paper's being used for if it's not a number 2. Then there's the disbelief and horror when they accompany me at the wrong time of the month (perhaps she's cut the willy off then?).

But what of the boys themselves, do they preserve a scrap of modesty? They certainly don't seem bashful squealing around the house playing hysterical pre-bath games nude. And once the three white-bottomed absconders have been captured and plonked in the bath, they've no inhibitions there either. They clamber unselfconsciously about, happily ensconced together in the Matey Bubbles. Occasionally tweaking willies … not always their own.

Hang on though, aside from the bath, J is beginning to show signs of self-consciousness. He suffers spasms of embarrassment at changing his clothes in front of others. He refuses to do al fresco wees lest someone sees his bits. And at home he shuts himself discreetly in when answering the call of nature, getting distressed if B tries to barge in. (Which he does, of course 'cos he knows it annoys his brother.)

Other than all the toilet angst and the fear of flesh exposure, though, I'm pleased to report that our 'soooo embarrassing' swingometer hasn't yet teetered yet into the zone that every cuddle-drunk mummy dreads. Thankfully any shame at public displays of affection is ... glory-be … still absent.

So, with that, I'm making the most of the plentiful kisses, hugs and random 'my love yous' while they're still on the menu. After all … in spite of my queer elbows and absent willy … it's nice to let them show they love me just the way I am.

• Click here for the next Buggy Blog
  
  
• Click here to read previous issues of The Buggy Blog
  
• School fundraising tips
  
• Cut your family's clothing bill