I don't have to tell any parent that, once you have a child in your life, privacy goes out the window. 

From the minute baby can walk, nowhere is sacred. You can't pee, shower, or dress without at least the threat of imminent interruption. Life gets all the more interesting when the child learns to talk, and you suddenly hear the little intimate details of your life shouted from the top of the playground structure, or stated matter of factly during "bring your child to work day".  You get used to the other adults in your child's life making oblique (and occasionally overt) reference to things you know you never mentioned, like the thousand questions your 2.5 year old asked about mentruation and tampons, or the comment that the child somehow (impossibly!) heard from the far end of the house about leaking through nursing pads. 

For the years during which all of your private life is made public by the little one(s) in your life, you hold on for dear life to the notion that someday, the filter will slide back into place. Someday, your child will discover the difference between public and private, and their teachers will not know when you sleep naked.

But sometimes, the filter never comes.  

And sometimes, there is no filter in the world strong enough to truly give you back your privacy, and the safety that comes with it.

Every afternoon, I wait with the other kindergarten parents outside my son's school.  Kindergarten lets out 45 minutes before the rest of the school, so it's a small group standing together on the sidewalk. Over the course of the year, we've gotten to know each other, at least superficially - we know the kids, and who belongs to which child, even if we don't know each other's names. We play with the younger siblings waiting with us, we talk about the weather, the school, the ups and downs of parenting.  In many ways, those of us who gather are in the same boat, watching our children navigate the waters of kindergarten. 

We talk, and I am aware of my filter... that sense of privacy that we all have, the determination of what we can safely say, and what will make us too vulnerable.  I am aware, because my child doesn't allow me to remain so private, even when he doesn't speak - even when he isn't present.

Having a child did away with my privacy, not only at home, but in public.  Once, privacy meant safety; now, although it is not only my own safety but my family's - my children's - at stake, privacy feels more like secrecy or shame, while speaking our truth means the semi-safety of preparation.

Because having a child did not mean simply committing to caring for a new life - to ensuring that he (and later, his brother) is fed, clean, educated, loved... Having a child was a commitment to living my own life in vulnerable honesty.  Having a child was a commitment to being out of the closet, consistently and constantly. Having a child was a commitment to living in a world that did not yet exist, that still does not exist: a world in which it is not necessary to hide for the sake of safety. 

In my town, this is not a no-brainer. Not long after we moved here, someone made a video about us and about our church, naming my wife and children, calling us abominations, and encouraging people to send hate mail.  Displaying a rainbow flag is controversial, and regularly brings about vandalism.