You can’t really claim to be a bona fide blogger, until you write a post embarrassing enough for the next conversation you have with your mum to be a little awkward. So here goes. For reasons unbeknownst to me I feel compelled to go into the deep and murky waters of SEX post-baby. I suspect that mums are far more likely to discuss this topic than Dads, we mainly discuss sport, beer and the weather you see, so in the spirit of sharing I think it’s only fair you have a dad’s perspective.
Sex pre-Max was a little like good beer, it was on tap and it put a smile on my face. Whilst watching on with morbid curiosity as Mrs Under’s nipple was rhythmically thrust back and forth through a pump, I wondered if sex would ever occur again. Breast pumps have all the aphrodisiac potential of a hairy man in a thong…………..or so I am told anyhow.
There is no shortage of contraceptive symptoms for life post baby. There is the fact that you have recently witnessed a blue creature emerge from a place that is normally reserved for the two of you. Watching Mrs Under give birth combined an overwhelming sense of joy and beauty with an overwhelming desire to look away and/or faint.
Once mother and child are safely home the chances of any amorous behaviour is curtailed by the fact that everyone is asleep, exhausted or in tears. Throw in a ready supply of baby sick, the afore mentioned pump that reduced Mrs Under to a dairy cow, a wife coming to terms with some bodily adjustments, a mysterious little person I don’t really know sharing our bedroom and a husband trying to come to terms with all of the above and you do not have the makings of a passionate encounter.
On those tough parent days, you know the ones I mean, we both look at one another and without saying anything acknowledge that it was sex that got us into this mess in the first place and should therefore be regarded a s the enemy. Even the simple pleasure of holding hands has its challenges, one of you is generally laden with nappies and other baby paraphernalia whilst the other is pushing a pram, two handed jobs if ever there were.
Time is a wonderful healer though and like a long lost pet you once loved (another really awful analogy) the sex has returned – hoorah! The act of foreplay is now checking and double checking that Max is asleep and it’s every bit as satisfying to find out that he is. No longer like a good beer sex now bares comparison to a fine wine, getting better with age and reserved for special occasions.
I am off to seek Mrs Under’s approval for this post, what you read will have had 50 Shades of Censorship for anything divorce worthy. I suspect that this is all a little tame for the subject matter and for that I apologise, but I am a man and I did try, so I deserve points for that surely? I look forward to that awkward conversation with my Mum.