I’m going to talk about it today. You know, the elephant in the room. I’m just going to go right ahead and blurt it out – before I got married my sex life was all like “Whoa, Cowboy, leave your boots on and make like we’re in a rodeo,” but post babies it became more like “Woe is me, this is friggin’ pathetic.”
I used to hear people make jokes about sex after marriage and I always swore that that would never be me. I love sex. Sex is fun. It relieves stress, it gets the blood flowing, and binds you to your partner so they’re much less irritating — plus it feels good.
So, why did my married sex-life become the epitome of these jokes? Where did the mornings of tiredness lie-ins coupled with coupling go? What happened to the wild abandon on the dinner table, kitchen counter, or lounge room floor?
Do you really want to know? Here it is (if you don’t have children, stop reading here. Children are awesome and they bring much joy to your life – Go forth. Breed.) I was tired — too tired for anything other than spooning.
During the night I would be up at midnight, then two, three, and 4 am, and again at 5 am and then I was up for good by 6.30 am. I could have fit in a quickie if I wasn’t desperately trying to catch two minutes more sleep.
We could kiss the morning coitus farewell because until I was showered and caffeinated, I was a zombie and no one wants to have sex with a zombie, except, perhaps, optimistic fellow zombies, but I just gave him “the look” and we all got the picture.
Sometimes during the day, I would think ‘tonight’s the night’. I wanted to do it. I really did.
Sex is a fantastic way to connect with your partner and prove that you are still a sexy, sexual being and not a just a sexless Stepford wife, but then 5:30 p.m. rolled around and, although the spirit may have been willing, the body was weak.
Washing, feed, sleep, clean, play, feed, sleep.
Folding, feed, sleep, clean, play with a toddler, feed, sleep.
Tidying, yell at the toddler, tidying, sleep, feed, a big glass of wine.
Kids to bed, dinner, clean, bed.
Are you asleep yet? There is no spontaneity because there is a problem of time for it.
No sex on the dining table because I would have no doubt ended up with a toy plane or a baby fork jammed where the sun doesn’t shine, and frankly, I don’t know how you come back from that trip to the emergency room. Kitchen counter?
I didn’t feel at all like a mewling sex kitten, but suspiciously more like a mooing dairy cow. It’s really hard to feel all VA-VA-VA-Voom when your boobs get all droopy. According to urban mythology, ladies peak sexually at age 40, so I was fast approaching my prime.
I had been in this predicament before, after the birth of my first child….and you know the only way I got over it? Get on it, to put it indelicately.
I set the challenge for a week of sex. Seven times in seven days (gasp). We may not quite have pulled it off (pardon the pun), but it made me start thinking about sex more. The first couple of roll arounds were a chore, but then I got in the swing of things.
Mojo builds mojo if only you can build the mojo to get the mojo rolling. In the meantime, whilst we await the elusive mojo, anyone for a spoon?
This article originally appeared on our sister site, Now to Love.