How hard is sex these days?! I mean really. I’m amazed that anyone ever has another baby. Not because of the crying or the lack of cash or sleep but because finding time and energy to have actual real-life sex is so, so, so hard. Deciding to have sex is like waking up at 6.00am, hearing the rain piss down outside, anxiously checking the monitor and breathing a sigh of relief when the Small is still sleeping and thinking, “I know, I’ll get up and go for a run.” It’s just that, when you’re so tired and busy and well, really really tired, there’s just a million other things to do first.
I want to have sex. I love sex. I’d have sex all the time if I literally had nothing else to do but with everything else going on in my day, sex just seems totally self-indulgent. Sex is the parental equivalent of checking into a spa or going out on a massive night. It’s amazing but you kind of know you shouldn’t be doing it. You know that, really, if pushed, you should be either sleeping or folding the laundry because let’s face it, you’re only going to complain about being tired and inundated with dirty clothes the next day.
I’ve previously written about how sex is like going to the gym – you don’t want to do it but when it’s done you’re so pleased you did. That’s still true it’s just that I’m not sure I even want a gym membership anymore. It’s so damn hard to find the juice to rev the engines to lube the pistons to warm it up to get it all going. I mean really, where did those hedonistic days of sixty-nines and naughty toys and dressing up go? Dressing up??!?! Ha. He’s lucky if I even remember to brush my teeth and shave my legs.
I get into bed these days and I do a mini involuntary fist pump if I can read a chapter of my book without falling asleep. Normally, I’m three paragraphs in before I drift off to be rudely awoken mere second later by the baby-waking clatter of my Kindle dropping to the floor. I have to physically lie on my hands to stop myself from ripping that cat’s head off when it wakes me by jumping on the bed and settling in for the night…can you imagine what I might do to my husband who dared to get in the way of my precious kip by suggesting he actually penetrate me?!
I’d kill him and there probably isn’t a court in the land that wouldn’t look at me sympathetically and say, “I totally understand babe. Go home, put your feet up and we’ll send a state-funded babysitter your way.”
Sorry if I sound a bit moany but it just seems so unfair. Surely parents deserve great and regular sex? It doesn’t require a babysitter, it’s free, you can do it from the comfort of your own home and it’s not like a date where you’ll end up just talking about the damn children (or at least we hope not). Come on Mother Nature. Sort this shit out and save our sexy time.