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When I became pregnant with my first son, I was not shy about showing off my belly. My growing womb was something I presented to the world with pride. I couldn’t wait to flaunt it in stomach-clinging shirts and tight dresses. And when I became a mother, I shrugged my blouse off my shoulders easily at my baby’s hungry cries, not even bothering with the nursing cover. It was almost with an exhibitionist’s glee that I would unbutton my shirt or pull up my dress anywhere from the local coffee shop to the tearoom at the Plaza. So why was it so difficult for me, after everything, with the pregnancies and the births and the breastfeeding, to bare my makeup-free face to the world? Why was this last reveal the hardest?