I don’t have sex much. Which sucks if you’re my husband Rob and sucks if you’re me too. And kind of sucks if you are Rob’s Mum or my Mum and you’re reading about your kids sex life on the interwebs. Yes Mum, I am talking about it. It’s OK, people can talk about these things out loud. Well I am at least.
See the thing is I love sex. I love having sex. I love how having sex makes you feel – sure the main game – but more than that – the closeness you feel, the feeling alive, the feeling everything other than the normal, mundane, same same that you feel 99.9% of the time when you are a Mum looking after small people under the age of 5. But, for whatever reason I am completely, totally, 100% not interested in having sex right now. I love my husband. I think he looks hot. I think I am a little overweight at the moment, but when I look at the mirror I don’t vomit, scream and run in the other direction. It’s a little scary, white and scaly sure, but it’s alright. I suppose. I am rested (sort of) I am not working so (should) have more energy than I normally do. I am not pregnant (which usually means I am completely put off sex). I am normal. I feel normal. I’m young. I’m semi attractive right? SO WHY DON’T I WANT TO HAVE SEX?
Here are but some of the
explanations justifications I have come up with:
I’ve been thinking about it. A lot. OK, I lament about it, I worry about it, I feel guilty about it, I obsess about what I’m not doing. Which might be the problem right? Building it up buttercup and then adding another thing to my list of things I don’t do very well daily? Mother guilt? Check! Not having enough sex guilt? Check! Bad wife and partner guilt? Check! Sounds about right.
The other thing is the “not bovvered factor”. Which is a huge contributor to the BNHSS (Beth not having sex scenario). You see the end of the day comes, I clean up after dinner, get some time to myself to do important things like check twitter and read blogs and other important stuff like watch Real Housewives of wherever and then I get sleepy and I want to sleep. So I do.
Then there is the whole “let’s not start what we cannot finish scenario”. Which is right up there for me. My children have built in cameras in their rooms that set off alarms the minute I grab my husband’s crotch. Seriously. SERIOUSLY. I cannot count (OK I probably can given my bad track record) the number of times we have started to get some some-some and Daisy calls out, or Harper cries. Every. Single. Fucking. Time. I am now like some kind of stealth submarine when I go down to our bedroom – quietly tip toeing, not making a loud noise brushing my teeth, or coughing, sliding under the doona covers as quiet as mouse – just in case, because there is always “a case”. So sex? No way. NO WAY.
And then there’s the pill. This pill I’m on. I think it has sucked the very will to procreate away from me. Actually, maybe it’s just because I am deep in the trenches of raising small people. But I swear, before going on this pill I used to be slightly more interested in the sugar. I think. No, I’m sure of it. Which kind of defeats the purpose of me going on it in the first place right? To stop me from getting pregnant. NOT HAPPENING to this Virgin Mary.
And of course there is the whole writing a blog post about not having sex when I could have blown my husband two times over in the space it has taken me to write this. There’s that.
But. I thought instead of sitting here beating myself up I would put it all out there, because that’s what I do. And I thought it might make someone else feel a little less like a freak because they don’t feel like having sex. Because as certain as I am that one of my children will wake tonight, I’m certain that this is common for women raising the small people. Maybe? I’m not even looking for suggestions, or advice, or help – I know what I have to do – stop talking the talk, and start walking the walk. Stop beating myself up and just relax. Just get on with it – because once you do get on with it – it’s great and it’s normal and it’s just you guys, how you started off together, back in love all over again and you wonder what the hell the big deal was about in the first place. And then you can be smug for a week because you just had sex, and then you can start the over thinking and the guilt cycle All. Over. Again.
Sometimes it’s exhausting being a female isn’t it?
*This blog was originally published at www.baby-Mac.com and has been re-published with full permission.
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