The jokes about the death of sex after marriage are long running. I remember when we first got engaged a bunch of my husband’s older buddies made some quips about blow jobs being a thing of the past. He silently looked at me with one eyebrow up, asking the question without words. I shook my head. No, no piece of paper was going to dull our sex life. No way… and it didn’t.
Then we had kids.
Besides the effect of childbirth on my body — the stretch marks, the lovely and large scar from a cesarean section, the added weight to my caboose — there was the full exhaustion of actually having to take care of a baby. Sex happened but with less frequency. Sometimes with more urgency. It was like “sex light.” Less time, less noise, less buildup. We penciled our needs into the calendar when we could, and often we couldn’t.
On this particular night we had come home from a dinner with the extended family fairly late… about 10 PM. My oldest fell asleep in the car and we quietly changed him and tucked him into bed. As I closed the door to the baby’s room (who was also sleeping soundly) I said to my husband, “You got 10 minutes?” He laughed and said, “You bet.”
We quickly stripped off all our clothes and jumped on the bed. Hubby was laying on top of me and for a fleeting moment, I thought we might have timed it just right for a nice evening together.
That’s when I heard my son’s little voice, “What are you guys doing?”
OMG, this can’t be happening. Dear God, why don’t we have locks on our door? I felt my mortified, and my husband was suppressing a giggle as he buried his head in the crook of my neck. Coward, guess I was going to have to handle this one myself…
Talking? You couldn’t have come up with anything better than that? Jesus.
“Talking naked?” said my 5-year-old, “That’s silly.”
“That’s us, super silly! Did you need something?”
Now I was just grasping at straws. Anything to make the most awkward moment of my life end… and fast.
“Did I leave Mr. Bear in here?” my sweet and clueless son said.
Hubby reached to our right, found Mr. Bear and threw him in the direction of our child.
“Thanks” he yelled, “Good Night.”
I breathed a sigh of relief as I thought this ordeal was finally over, but then he popped his head back in as if he’d forgotten something.
“You know…” he thought aloud, “If you really are talking naked, you’re doing it all wrong. Daddy’s still wearing socks.”
After my son was gone, we both laid there on the bed for what seemed like forever, laughing so hard we couldn’t breathe. Side-splitting, face hurting laughter. Sexy time was over, but it can become something more intimate, something hilariously real.
We ate a microwave pizza and went to sleep.
That night, it was better than sex.
Related post: The Five Stages of Parents’ Sex Life
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