OPINION: If you've come past my house recently, you may have mistaken it for a nudist colony.
No, my clothes are remaining firmly on my body because let's face it; most of me permanently migrated south after the second child.
It seems my tiny terror has taken a sudden disliking to her clothes.
And thanks to her teasing older brother, she now thinks it's hilarious to strip down to the nickie-noo-nah and run from one end of the house to the other singing, "naked baby" at the top of her high-pitched little lungs.
When I finally catch her, I dress her and the whole scene repeats itself within a matter of minutes.
What is this?
My son never did this!
As I write this, I'm pretty sure I just heard the telltale giggling that I usually hear when she's de-robing somewhere in the house.
I think I re-dressed her five times the other day, and that was before 9am.
I've even considered whether getting the masking tape out and taping her clothes to her body is acceptable parenting.
I'm sure the courier thought I was really strange when he came past the other day and I only opened the door enough for him to slide my parcel to me through the gap. All the while I nervously smiled like I was harbouring a criminal inside.
I also suspiciously hurried the poor guy along, hoping my daughter wouldn't come and flash him during his delivery.
No Mr Courier, I don't have a criminal … I have a tiny naturalist running around the house. I can never be too sure of when her urge to strip occurs either.
I'm waiting for the moment when she decides she's had enough of her clothing while I'm out getting my coffee at the cafe, taking her to the park, or picking up some groceries.
So if you see a naked child running with a mum desperately trying to contain the wild streaker, it's probably me.
Trish Hamilton is an author based in Hervey Bay.