Sex and Marriage and Motherhood
Can I be really real for a moment? Does anyone else out there feel like you have to pencil sex in once you have kids? And for all of you who may comment, “No, it’s frequent and spontaneous and mind-blowing all the time,” save that crap for someone who will not beat you to a bloody pulp if she ever caught your smug behind alone in a back alley.
I hate that at times intimacy feels like I’m some demented clown juggling knives while walking barefoot over hot coals. “Sh! They’re still awake!” or “Did you hear a sneeze?” makes me ponder getting a babysitter so that we can check into a hotel room for a few hours. And if it weren’t for the fact that we kind of enjoy eating food and living in a space a bit larger than my dad’s basement, we probably would.
The real problem for me, though, is that I can remember what it was like to have sex without thinking about all the things I could or should be doing. Worst yet is what I’m actually doing sometimes instead of really connecting with my dear hubby. [“Yeah, right there.” We need bread, eggs, milk, and detergent. “Oh, baby, don’t stop.” Tomorrow is the school play, the baby shower, and Bible study. Damn, why did I just think about church. Damn, why did I just say “damn” in the same sentence as church.] Obviously, there are times when I’m totally focused on the task at hand, but I wish that the occasions when I’m mentally someplace else would end. I want my old sex life back. Not just on occasion, but on every occasion.