…at least that’s what my mama always told me, and I’m the youngest of 7, so I guess she knew.
But clearly this post is not about my mama. It’s about THIS mama, and the lack of ‘rolling in the hay’ my barn has seen since becoming one. Of course, it’s not because The Man isn’t ready, willing, and able at the drop of his pants a hat, which I’ve talked about here and here, but mostly as the result of that evil thing called postpartum, pre-menopausal, decreased libido. (I’m certain this is not a bona fide clinical term, but damn it sounds official, doesn’t it?) So, in essence, I take all the blame. But I bore all the children too, and well..things change. And I call bullshit on anyone who claims otherwise, because let’s face it…
As mothers, we just can’t please everyone. Go ahead, try it. I dare you…just for a day. Then get back to me and let me know how it worked out for you, after you awaken from the coma you’ll slip into as the result of the exhaustion it caused. 🙂
First of all, in my house, nine times out of ten, the one who is screaming the loudest gets the attention. Personally, I’ve noticed that The Man tries to avoid this type of outburst, and usually gets neglected as a result. Kind of his fault, but chalk one up for The Beans for always beating him to the chase in this department. Something about ear-splitting wails coming from a tiny human just kills the mood, even if I’ve promised myself , and him, that ‘tonight is definitely the night’. Admittedly, it does improve when they sleep through the night, but I should mention at this point, that our Butter Bean woke up no less than 3 times a night until she was 3 and a half years old. So Sweet Pea slept in the room with us for about a year. Not in the bed with us, mind you, but in a crib across the room. Obviously, the reason for this is they needed to share a room, and I didn’t want one to wake up the other, because a 3 am wake-up call at the hands of a toddler AND an infant is just a shit show. Sometimes literally. And quite the ‘coitus interruptus’ if we happened to be awake, getting busy. So that’s the effect the toddler years had on the sex life. For 3 consecutive terms. Just like prison.
Moving on.
We are now in the years when it shouldn’t be an issue. They are all school-aged. But it still is. Now we must worry about them walking in on us. Lock the door, you say? Tried it. Sweet Pea stood outside and gave her best impression of Stewie from ‘Family Guy’ when he is repeatedly saying ‘Mom, mom, mother, mommy, etc”. Try doing the deed through THAT. Besides, I’m convinced my daughters inherited my ability to pick locks, and that’s a problem. Oh, and not that I’m a ‘screamer’, but there is also the problem of making too much noise and US waking THEM up. What a conundrum, right? So what the fuck are we supposed to do? (no pun intended here)
Schedule sex? I’ve heard of this. Not for me. What I loved most about the months of dating, pre-baby (yes, I said months) was the spontaneity. You know, the freedom to start off with one of those seemingly innocent, yet deep, soul touching kisses that ends up with you and your mate up against a wall, or on the dining room table scrambling to tear each other’s clothes off? Penciling “it” in, just erases all the fun out of it in my opinion. But hey, to each his own.
Go to a hotel? Right. This costs money, and in this economy….with 3 Beans…it’s not happening. Plus, babysitters are scarce up in here. Unless someone wishes to volunteer to come and stay the weekend? And then I’m sure we’d spend the majority of the hotel stay catching up on sleep. Seriously.
Last but not least, the nails in the coffin of my sex drive are the biological changes that have begun to take hold of my body, causing the aforementioned postpartum, pre-menopausal, decreased libido. Nothing I can do about this either. As Dr.V told me 2 weeks ago…“You are entering the 40’s. Things start to change.” Often, I just don’t feel sexy, despite constant affirmations from The Man, that I am, in fact, the most beautiful creature he’s ever seen. When I look in the mirror, I see a face with tired skin, multiple blemishes and dark circles. The once perky boobs that so efficiently nursed The Beans are no longer standing at attention, and my dancer’s body…while not carrying extra weight….is just, well, soft. Oh…and don’t get me going on my gray roots. I realize I have earned every single silver hair on my head, yet I really wish I wasn’t such an overachiever in that respect. And there are other things too…but that’s TMI. Google my made up terminology and see what you get in association with it 🙂
Maybe I should read “Fifty Shades of Grey” for inspiration. You think that will help? After all, the man in that book and The Man in my life do have the same name, or so I hear. Perhaps that ‘mommy porn’ will resurrect my inner porn star. At this point, it’s worth a shot, I believe. Especially when the alternative is praying my fire reignites once The Beans have flown the coop. When The Man and I are older than dirt.
Guess I need to go to the library, don’t I?
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