Parent Sex.

Centuries ago some dude named Benjamin Franklin once said ‘nothing is certain except death and taxes.’ It’s clear this man never had a wife or a dozen mistresses bear his children otherwise he would have quoted ‘nothing is certain except death, taxes, and an MIA libido when child-rearing.’ Yup, there’s nothing like a newborn kid swinging from your nips 24/7, a toddler around your ankles, the monotony of household chores & chronic sleep deprivation to kick your sex life in the proverbial testicles. And while the opportunity does present itself from time to time; what was once a booty-bumping, door-thumping, Barry Manilow-pumping tryst between lovers has now been replaced with “oh for the love of God you’ve got 3 minutes until the ad break finishes & Masterchef is back on.” Ladies & Gentlemen, welcome to parent sex.

Now what felt like centuries ago, hubby & I had a cracking love life. These were the red-hot days where the champagne flowed, conversation was long & every gaze was lustful. Where laying in bed until noon was normal, our housemates thought we were permanently joined at the lips (and hips), and the karma sutra needed a ‘revised edition’ to include a thing or two from our bedroom antics. Where bumping uglies, playing ‘hide the salami’, car sex/ floor sex/ kitchen sex & doona-dancing were done at every opportunity (thank-you to urban dictionary for all 436 versions of ‘sex’). Things were once so good poor Hubby could barely keep up the pace.

So with a fire burning so hot, having two kids surely wouldn’t change a thing, right?? WRONG. After marriage, two kids, two cats, a dog & 6 long years together its only natural that sexy-time would get put on the back-burner. Even moreso with a newborn in the house. Throw in the monotony of work, bills, & everyday life & hey presto- you’ve got yourself a recipe called ‘never getting laid again.’ And for all of you singletons out there who scoff & don’t believe this could ever happen to you, lets examine the evidence together…

Hubby’s day goes a little something like this:

5am: drive to work.
9am: coffee & polite conversation with co-workers.
9:05am: poopin’ time on company dime.
9:10am – 4pm: work, long lunch break, toilet break.
4pm: drive home from work to find kids bathed, washing sorted & dinner cooked.
6pm: scratches nuts on couch in full view of wife while mouthing ‘ya want some??’
(Gee, no thanks Romeo…).
9pm: bed time.

While my day goes a little like this:

Crack of dawn (5am): ‘mummy, do you want to see my barbie??’ Proceeds to push barbie & her quite-frankly-slutty-stilettos into my cornea.
5:10am: ‘mummy I want breakfast..’ Cue toddler-tyrant meltdown that her eggs are too yellow/ milk is too wet/ bowl is not pink.
5:15am: think, ‘what the fuck is that noise?’ Only to remember I have a newborn now & boy is he cranky for being made to wait 3.5 seconds for titty.
5:20am: eat the toddler’s leftover cereal & while washing it down with yesterday’s cold coffee.
6am: chase naked toddler through the living room/ kitchen/ bathroom. Tackle her to the floor & dress her while she’s thrashing around like a rabid dog.
6:20am: dress myself- trakkies that fit my widening ass, maternity bra & mum-bun. Keepin’ it classy since 2014.
6:21am: have the newborn vomit all down fresh clothes & into the base of shoe.
7am: find the longest running episode of Peppa Pig on YouTube, tell the toddler to go nuts, place the newborn down in his cot & get excited about taking a dump in peace. Cat nudges door open & sits on lap. Try to be thankful that my lap is at least warm..
8am: attempt to leave the house. Pack a gluten free/ allergy free/ peanut free lunch for the toddler, pack nappies, wipes, toys, blankies, rags, spare set of clothes for the baby. Pack the car like you’re leaving & never coming back.
8:01am: fantasize about packing up the car & never coming back (bye children!!)…

I’d go on but you get the point. Lust wears off & real life takes its place. After a pretty typical (harrowing) day Hubby normally arrives home to find the house neglected, the toddler throwing herself at his feet & a baby pushed into his arms. Not a second after his feet walk through the front door do I start bitching on about which child has pushed me to the brink that day. My trakkies are covered in newborn vomit, hair pushed into a mum-bun & titties squeezed into the mono-boob only a the most beige & saggy of maternity bras could muster. I’ve got acne from eating all the kid’s Easter Eggs on the sly, I can’t be bothered applying makeup & my hair is falling out in clumps (cheers to postpartum hair loss!). Which is ironic considering I’m going bald up top but am hairier than chewbacca down below. My legs are bushy & my ‘lady garden’ has become a ‘lady forest.’ If sunsilk were looking for ‘minge-models’ I’d happily pull out the knicker-wad & let those pubes glisten freely in the sun.

And yet despite all this i throw myself into bed, exhausted, mentally preparing myself for the long night ahead breastfeeding my son at the ‘all you can eat boobie-buffet’ & hubby gives me that look… 3.5 seconds into pyjamas & chill & he wants to ‘throw me one.’ God bless his cotton socks- against all the aesthetic obstacles, the bits that sag, the wobbly bits & my apparent fall from grace in the hygiene department, he still wants to shag me.

And for that dear hubby, I will. Welcome to parent sex. The next 3 minutes are all yours…

Helenka – The Unlikely Mummy.

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