I love you. Let's just open with that, okay? Because it's important for you to remember. Just please, please don't try to have sex with me right now. Understand that if I recoil at your tender nudge in bed at the end of the day, it's not a reflection of you or my love for you. I need you to know that it won't be like this forever, but right now, I'm more interested in having a glass of wine or binge-watching a mindless show on Netflix than participating in an act we used to regularly enjoy. The reason for this? The kids we created from that same fun act.
Our children are on me all day, every day. One constantly asks to sit with me, snuggle with me, or have their butt wiped by me, while the other is literally sucking on my boob at all times. I love them dearly and wouldn't trade them for the world, but... it can be exhausting.
By the time I get both of them fed, bathed, and in bed, the last thing I want is to be close to another human and worry about pleasing someone else. I want to sit on the couch by myself and do nothing. Sometimes in silence, sometimes with a good alcoholic beverage, and sometimes with the mindless flickering of the television screen.
I know the act in which you'd like to participate is more about bodies than minds, but let me give you a glimpse into my mind during our romp — "Did she brush her teeth before bed? I forgot to pick up the cupcakes for her class tomorrow. We also need milk. And mince for that recipe. What did it call for? 500g? I should double it so we have leftovers.
I'll need to get petrol while I'm out too since we have that appointment 50 kms away on Friday. I think he said he's working that day so I'll have to bring the baby to the appointment, too. I hope the baby stays asleep a little longer. I'm exhausted and would like to sleep a little after this." And it just goes on and on, mindless lists of things to do. Not one thought in there was actually about being in the moment or enjoying what was going on to and with my body.
I'm constantly inundated with things to do to keep our house running smoothly. I'm also woken up at least five times every night by a fussy baby. I'm tired. Yes, I know I just got my monthly Brazilian wax, but no, it's not for you.
I rarely get to shower by myself, and I'm not talking about the fun, double person kind of shower. I'm talking about the kind where I only have another person in there with me because I don't have anywhere else to put them. So shaving regularly is pretty much out of the question, and it's easier to run a razor over my legs than down there, so I choose to continue this monthly waxing ritual more for me. It used to make me feel sexy. Now it just makes me feel clean and satisfied that something is off my to-do list.
My boobs are saggy, my stomach is still recovering from its nine months of stretching, I'm not really sure what happened to my ass, but it seems to have lost its mojo too. It's rare you'll find me without a stain of baby spew or leaked breast milk.
Yet, you still gawk at me when I undress at the end of the day and want to jump on top of me when I feel like a frumpy housewife. I thank you for this, and I sincerely apologise that I don't share in your sexual enthusiasm at the moment. Like I said, it won't be like this forever, but for now, I appreciate you rolling over and allowing me to enjoy my glass of wine.