"Mom, were you sexy when you were a kid?"

Uh, what?
My seven-year-old and I are jockeying for the sink in the bathroom, half-clothed in pajamas, post-shower.

"What do you mean, 'sexy?'"
I'm sort of stalling, sort of not. Chances are she does mean something other than the worst-case scenarios running in my head.

I'm not surprised by her question, though. I'm in better shape now than ever, at age 37, thanks to Pilates training and the international community of fellow students I've discovered in its quiet discipline. The central tenet of the original exercise regimen, developed over decades by an actual guy -- holistic fitness fanatic Joseph H. Pilates -- is that you feel intimately how your body moves and work to balance and challenge it. His favorite workout wear (circa 1920) was a pair of short white shorts -- in winter. He was also photographed performing his exercises in a loin cloth in summer. 

By comparison, my full-length yoga pants and tank tops look like space suits. But still, it's more skin than I let my daughter show at school, usually in observance of the 'noodle strap' rule (no tank tops or shirts with spaghetti straps).

"I mean, did you wear sexy clothes?"

Oh, boy. Here we go. 

"What is 'sexy'?" I parry.

My goal is not to dictate what my daughter does or does not show of her own body, within reason. She's very tall -- her head nearly brushes my shoulder. She has long legs, even by elementary standards. People are going to look at her most of her life, if she continues to grow at this rate.

But I hope she's riveting even if she's not the tallest woman to enter a room.

There is a certain life force -- a purpose, a passion, an ease -- that moves the most striking bodies out there. And I'm not talking just about athletes or celebrities who are good in front of cameras. It's command of one's self that only comes of practice, self-confidence, and strength -- inside and out.

You pursue it on your own, challenged entirely by your own resistance. As in Pilates practice, you cannot better yourself simply by contrasting your abilities with those less able. It's all within you. 

Or it isn't.

Anyway, I hope that's what my daughter means.

I let a few beats pass, knowing she will kill the silence in short order.

"So, how old were you when your parents got you a phone?" she says, showing her hand.

I'll take it. You just worry about having the maturity to manage a cell phone, just a while longer.

As bikini season was heating up here in the Midwest this summer, I read a pro v. con opinion piece on whether letting our young daughters wear two-piece bathing suits is good for their self-image/esteem/confidence. I sense the same question comes out of the closet at Halloween -- a holiday columnist Dan Savage refers to as Heteroween, or straight person pride night (I agree).

First off, let me say that my daughter wouldn't know what to do with a one-piece -- she's never had one -- as the long torso she inherited from her grandma would certainly make it uncomfortable, initiating the heightened self-awareness and pulling of fabric that the 'cons' in the above debate attribute to midriff-baring styles.

No, I think the larger question is not what swimsuits or any revealing clothes might say of the young girls who wear them but what women -- mothers, especially -- are willing to admit about themselves and the cues children take from all the adults in their life.

And the issue is what we -- the adults -- struggle endlessly to hide: the human body's native (gorgeous) form and function, culminating in sexual expression. 

Don't get me wrong: I am not a pageant mom. The makeup and hair products I own fit in a kid's pencil bag (really). I am not a proponent of precocious promiscuity or suggestive clothes styled obviously to gratify the parent, rather than provide for the child's physical or emotional comfort.

On the other hand, I take great pleasure in physical fitness and have found that virtually any article of clothing is more flattering when the flesh it's covering best fits the wearer -- and that holds whether we're talking about women my age with the cheeks to rock a thong bikini or women my grandmother's age, whose capris show off the calves and ankles that can walk mile after mile. 

In my house, we try to embrace nakedness as a natural state. I often shower with my daughter and dress without trying to hide my sensual bits -- mostly to save time, but also to hear her questions about the body and development in their native environs. Because she's an only and spends considerable time interacting directly with me, she's constantly evaluating her body alongside mine, rather than her peers'.

I'm sure this has led to more than one of my daughter's teachers hearing about the form my underwear take in comparison to her modest girls' briefs. But it has also resulted in my daughter commenting openly when she recognizes women in the media or on the street "being sexy." For 7, she's remarkably articulate about what she does or does not like about how they chose to dress, and her opinion usually celebrates the human part of the equation, rather than the fabric or the bling on the surface.

It has also led to my daughter observing the work your triceps have to do to execute a decent push-up -- something she's learning in order to catch up with classmates at the local gymnastics studio.

And it has led to inevitable but focused discussion of the privileges of maturing into an adult female. I can wear heels during the school day. She cannot. Some of my attire or activities require me to wear a bra. Hers do not. My body hair requires more maintenance than hers does. 

In the end, I want my daughter to be comfortable in her skin -- all of it -- not just the parts that are or are not covered by swimwear. Already, I have no doubt she'll have shoes to go with it.