Let’s all laugh about that title together, for a whole paragraph:
Okay, now we can breathe again and try to remember that we’re sensual, hot women with needs of our own, not just bedraggled mommies with endless supplies of energy and understanding for our babies. Yes, you’re sleep deprived. And yes, your bed partner always asks you at the wrong time to turn into a sex goddess. But this really is an example of when you should fake it until you make it.
No! Not that kind of faking it! Never pull a Meg Ryan–for your own sake, not for anyone else’s. Sex needs to be about you, too. I know “they” say that you should give it up whenever your partner wants it because in a loving relationship you do that, but sometimes I think “they” should go stuff their heads in a toilet and flush.
What I mean by faking it until you make it is this: when your partner wants to have sex and you’re too worn out, mentally and/or physically, try to think of sex as a gift to the weary. Yes, to the weary. And to the frustrated, the anxious, and the depressed—all states of being that mothers understand.
Be open to new ways of being sensual before nodding off to sleep. Tell your partner you’re tired but that you’re willing to play around. Turn on Cinemax (OMG, I had no idea until the other night that you can see naked people on TV! I was shocked!). Read a hot sex scene in a book. Buy nice lingerie.
And if nothing, absolutely nothing, gets you in the mood, say no.
But chicas, I know this from experience, say no too many times and you both suffer in a romantic relationship. It’s such a relief to turn over and go to sleep sometimes when you’re in full-fledged mommy mode, but as time goes by, my husband gets severely cranky, I get bitchy (you need those hormones flowing through your body, seriously, or you’ll get brittle and wrinkled before your time; it’s a fact), and our relationship in general can sour.
This still happens to me, even though our kids are older. Their problems simply change. You’re as obsessed with wanting to help them as you are when they’re toddlers. And then the opportunities to have sex dwindle as they age up. The house gets really, really small. Everyone can hear everything!
So make hay while you can, ladies. Sex is always going to be a challenge until you have an empty nest.
I get such mileage in my relationship from a good sex romp with my husband that I’ve learned to remind myself of all the great advantages when I’m in full-fledged exhaustion/hysteria/anxiety/depression mode. And what’s so crazy is that it’s taken me years to figure out how much better off I am, too!!!
TMI? Deal with it. :>)
And don’t be me. Don’t go through spartan sex times. Literally, keep a secret calendar to remind yourself how often (or not) you’re having Green Eggs and Ham sex with your partner (you’ll take it in a car, on a boat, on the train, in a box…but not the plane. Please, not the plane. We’ll all hear you.) Do whatever it takes to keep your libido alive. And go away for an overnight in your own town’s bed and breakfast. Let Grandma take the kids. Drink a cocktail to loosen yourself up when you’re anxious, if you can do so in moderation (otherwise, you’ll fall asleep). And most of all, keep your sense of humor, your sense of adventure, and your sense of fun.
Sex really is Nature’s way of keeping us young and flexible. Make this your new mantra: More Sex, More Me. Okay, that sucks as a mantra, but I mean that you’ll blossom when you keep sex a priority. Yes, blossom!!! And you’ll remember that you matter, your marriage or relationship matters, your partner matters…not just those roly-poly babies with their gummy smiles and adorably charming ways.
That’s what I mean by More Sex, More Me. Now someone come up with a better slogan in the comments. Please! And okay, if you’ve had sex on a plane, you can tell us in the comments if you want to brag.
But the most important thing is that tonight you’re going to pull out that tray of appetizers, that bottle of wine, some cool glasses, and make a date with your hottie. I promise you won’t regret it. But don’t tell us what happened.
We’ll be able to tell anyway from that rosy glow on your cheeks and the bon vivant Tweets you’ll post tomorrow.
Hi, I’m Kieran. My family loves music and anything that makes us laugh out loud. I try to teach my kids that we have to actively choose happiness–and if I accomplish nothing else as a mom but pass that one lesson along to them, then I think I’ve done my job.
My oldest guy, Dragon, was diagnosed in kindergarten with Asperger’s syndrome, and now he’s a sophomore in college; his sister Indie Girl, who’s younger by 16 months, is a college freshman; and my youngest, Nighthawk, is in eighth grade. My kids are compassionate, smart, fun, and funny people–and they turned out that way even though I wasn’t June Cleaver. I lose my keys all the time. I stare into the fridge and wonder what’s for dinner in half an hour and then remember I have to cook it. I double-book things a lot because I have three ways to make appointments (phone, purse calendar, and kitchen calendar) and haven’t yet worked out a great system for streamlining them. I don’t know how I managed to write a book, much less five now. But for me and my kids, it’s about managing your weaknesses and wringing everything you can get out of your strengths. And along the way, finding joy.