“Your sex life as a parent basically becomes fifty shades, but I’m talking ‘Fifty Shades of Pray… Those Kids Stay the F Asleep.’
Am I right?
Because it starts to get to the point where you’re wondering, who is that man you live with (whose beard resembles your pubic region)? Rather than feeling like prison wardens to the monkeys who demand snacks and whose asses you have to re-wipe because they always miss the brownie on the left cheek, you want to feel intimate again.
I mean, after you start referring to each other as Mommy and Daddy, you kind of get the feeling that it may never happen again.
I mean we do our best, don’t we? I send mind-blowing messages that get him going like, ‘Hey, please buy the super absorbent pads, it’s raining Niagara Falls over here, and the baby vomited in my mouth so some mouthwash too.’
No, dirty talk for me, as a mother now, is looking at my husband like I’m Post Malone (frizzy flyaway hair included) who’s smoked a few too many j’s with the sleaziest eyes and sultriest voice I have and say ‘I’ve showered today,’ flicking my nanna undies at him that sit under my chin and could knock him the hell out with the weight.
And him giving me the nod, replying, ‘How tired are you?’
And there’s foreplay, like when you pick your kids’ Shopkins out of your butt. Or he asks you if you’re thinking dirty thoughts and you tell him, ‘Yes, the laundry is so full.’
The scene is set with romantic music in the background, baby shark… do do me.
But even after all that, there’s something built into children, there truly is, where they sense when you’re relaxed, on the phone (or in my case last night, about to have the big O…) that sends them running in to bug you, or in my case, that they had a bad dream. It stops you right in your tracks and makes you feel like a teenager again.
If the teenager just used wrinkle cream and eyebrow tweezers to pluck chin hair and grey hairs and who’s wearing compression socks, then yeah, a teenager.
Ahhh parenting… Nothing like it!
Well, he may have had a bad dream, but what he actually he got was a lifetime of nightmares.
I have now opened a savings account named, ‘Future therapy bill.’
Safe to say, no one won the wrestling match.
This story was submitted to Love What Matters by Laura Mazza, where it originally appeared. Follow Laura on Instagram here. Do you have a similar experience? We’d like to hear your important journey. Submit your own story here. Be sure to subscribe to our free email newsletter for our best stories, and YouTube for our best videos.
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