I’ve spent the last 12 years of my life drowning in children. Three kids meant there was always a baby. And a toddler. And sometimes two toddlers. And sometimes two babies. Needless to say, it was pretty easy to lose my mojo. And much harder to get it back.
Before kids, hubs and I used to enjoy a Saturday romp just about every weekend. We’d sleep in (remember that?), get breakfast, work out, get fancy coffees, grocery shop, do laundry, clean the apartment, take a drive around the lake… and somewhere in there, usually around noon, there was some good Saturday sex.
I miss Saturday sex.
But even then, in the height of our 20s, when we thought we were frumpy and out of shape (hahahaha), I still never enjoyed morning sex. The hubs always asked. I always cringed. Ick. My breath. His breath. I need to get up and pee. And probably poop. And have coffee. And wake up. And ugh, there’s dirty dishes in the sink and what are we making for dinner tonight? And then my mind was off and running and couldn’t possibly return to the idea until at least three tasks were completed (hence the noontime fun).
Then kids came. And everything changed.
The switch between Saturday afternoon sex to barely any sex was abrupt. I was touched out, stitched up, and leaking everywhere. Somehow in there we made more babies, though. But it wasn’t on Saturdays (morning or early afternoon).
But now, here we are, post-babies. Post-toddlers. Our kids are 12, 10, and 7. They let us sleep in on the weekends (until they start fighting over the Xbox or who gets the last slice of cold pizza). They can play independently without us. And, just recently, we’ve found our 20-something selves again.
On occasion we’re able to sneak away on a Saturday afternoon. We tell them we need to “talk about something important” so they should grab a snack and watch a movie. We lock the door and they don’t bother us. It may not be quite as sexy as 15 years ago—when we find a teddy bear in our bed and can hear them yelling about who gets the iPad, but we make it work.
And guess what else? Last weekend, while we were laying in bed on Saturday morning, listening to them play together downstairs, hubs looked over at me with raised eyebrows. Suddenly all of my inhibitions from years ago were gone. It was him. And me. Who cares about our breath? And whether the kitchen was a mess? The kitchen’s always a mess. The coffee could wait. This could not. With a bunch of kids in the house, every opportunity is a golden opportunity—I know that now.
Much to his surprise, I hopped out of bed and locked the door. With kids awake and running around one floor below, two tired, graying parents had morning sex, and it was HOT. And something I think we’ll practice more often now. The thing is, I wasn’t worried about the kids. I wasn’t stressing about someone falling down the stairs or spilling orange juice everywhere. And I didn’t feel self-conscious that I hadn’t showered. Or shaved (since Thursday) or brushed my teeth. It was a good 10 minutes (or was it 20?) of uninterrupted, uninhibited, orgasm-inducing intimacy.
Why had I resisted this all these years?
I’ve missed Saturdays. I’ve missed my husband. And I know he’s missed me. So now that we are in our 40s, and actually fatter and more jiggly than our 20-something selves, we’re finding each other again—sometimes on Saturdays, between 8 a.m. and noon.
I wish it hadn’t taken me 18 years of having sex to realize the benefits of morning time fun, but at least I can spend the next 18 with fewer inhibitions and fewer rules.
So girlfriends, if you’re in the trenches, leaking milk, feeling more unsexy than ever, and so exhausted you want to cry, it’s okay. I know that life. I’ve been where you are. HANG ON. It does get better. And who knows—sexy 20-something you may be gone, but that just makes room for Sexy Mama, a whole new woman.