Am I Good in Bed?

Sex isn't something new moms talk about at playgroup.  Or even with their partners.  Especially during the first couple months of bleary-eyed motherhood.  But, eventually, you have The Talk.

"Did you have your doctor appointment today?"  The Husband gives the sly grin that always means he's about ready for a little roll in the proverbial hay.

"Yep."  Short, sweet, and to the point. My forlorn and weary side is hiding just under my skin. I've yet to have more than 2 hours without a baby attached to my breast for nourishment.

"Is everything okay?"

Lying at this point just wasn't right, even though I spent a split second thinking about it.

"Yep."

Only problem is my libido. It's still in the delivery room wondering how it's going to be aroused.

My husband (blessed man that he is) either senses my trying-to-be-hidden hesitation or decides he's going to take matters into his own hands. He finishes his last bite of dinner, clears the rest of the dinner table mess—except my half eaten plate—and reaches for our daughter.  But not before laying a nice, long, passionate kiss (with a little tongue) right on my smacker.

"Great," he grins, "that is wonderful news."  He swoops our daughter into his arms and disappears into the living room.

Which leaves me—chest-half exposed from a nursing session—a little shocked with the expression of passion and at least a half-hour to enjoy an uninterrupted meal of half-warm spaghetti.  Not to mention slightly aroused.

Rewind about five years, I'd given birth to our first child, a son.  His birth was a lot more painful, stressful, and tore me in more ways than I thought humanly possible. With still healing stitches and a high-demand nurser on my hip, The Talk was the farthest thing from my mind. I was delirious for someone to clean up the dinner dishes and let me lie down for 4 hours of continuous sleep. But the only thing my husband was delirious about was the possibility of sex.

"I don't get it," he sighed, "What am I doing wrong?"

"Nothing," I pleaded, "I'm just… tired."  It sounded like the old broken record syndrome all over again. I'd said those fated words at least 15 times already. Now they were falling on deaf ears.

"I'm trying to be a good father, isn't that enough?"

"It's not about being a father…"

"Then I'm not a good enough husband?"

And I realized.  We'd turned an easy conversation about something that was supposed to be fun, natural, and a little spontaneous (hell, it got us a child in the first place didn't it?) and it had turned into an argument. A ripe old one at that.

"Look, this is all new to me," shifting our son to my other hip, "Just bear with me. Please.  I just don't feel like it.  Not tonight."

"When do you feel like it?" a defeated sigh pulled his shoulders lower,  "Because right now, it doesn't seem like you ever do."

The brevity of the situation was now out in front of me. We needed our coupledom back. The  pre-baby mojo. Or I just might lose my husband.  And quite possibly myself in the process.  When did I turn all mother and no me?

"Can we take it slow?"  He lifted his head and met my gaze. "I can't just become a sex kitten on a moments notice."

"I get that," he took my hand.

"Well let's find a way to gradually there."

"You mean I can't just come home and ask for it?"  His grin gave his realization away. Our Talk had worked. Or at least brought us closer together.

Back at the present, postpartum baby number two, my husband was using his new tricks to get me into bed.  And they were working.  Baby (and toddler) free moments to finish a meal?  Uninterrupted time to just… be me?  Cleaning the table?  Passionate kisses to spark the flame?  It all counted for a bit of something.

This bit of forehand thought or planning and especially the teasing was moving us in the right direction. My libido was considering an express train back to the bedroom.  And I wasn't far behind.  At least in theory. I still had the children's toys to pick up, a load of laundry to fold, and my work report due on my boss's desk the next morning.  But that's nothing that couldn't wait a couple hours for a little romance, right?

Bethany Hiitola lives in a far north suburb of Chicago with her husband, son and new daughter.  Throw in the animals, and it is a full house of chaos.  Somehow, Bethany still manages to reach for her dream of writing—all between diaper changes, nap times, fixing meals, and work projects.  Oh and giving her husband the attention he deserves.  More details are at her website:  www.bethanyhiitola.com 

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