Lille peed on the floor and took a dump in the corner for spite.
It’s not that I didn’t once enjoy sex. In fact, back in the day b.k. (before kids) , if my memory serves me correctly, I looked forward to it. If I remove the numbness that is my libido, I remember that I couldn’t get home from work or a trip fast enough to land safely in the arms of my husband. Now, I was so tired, it was the last thing on my mind. It’s not that I don’t find my husband attractive, it’s just that with the three kids and six ears listening for any peep out of me, I feel repressed. I felt as if my entire sex drive left my soul as my placenta was being delivered.
I used to have sexy lingerie that I actually would wear to bed. Now, it was the men’s pajama bottoms and a tank top with a shelf bra built in. I woke up each morning wet from my boobs leaking desperately trying to grab another shirt to cover myself before my daughter woke up. Each morning, I smelled of a sippy cup fermenting in the back of the minivan well hidden under a seat and a map of the zoo. How could I not offend my husband? It was a wet t-shirt contest every morning, but I was always a loser. The boobs were no longer impressive and they always hurt like hell.
I would slowly brush my teeth and splash some water on my face, wiping off whatever leakage may have seeped onto my pillow and then onto my face over the course of my night. Holding the railing for strength and comfort, my sons ecstatically greet me as I descend the staircase, “Good MORNING mommy, did you well sleep dreams?”. I think what they are trying to say is “Did you sleep well with sweet dreams?”, but it doesn’t come out that way.
Lille peed on the floor and took a dump in the corner for spite, I put on a happy face before I look for my cup of coffee and say in my Stepford wife voice that I have perfected to my own self admiration, “Oh yes, Mommy slept really well and I had wonderful dreams.” When in fact, my husband woke me by hitting my feet with a morning “swat” of “Get up” and I feel a twinge of pain from the superficial wound he gave me from one of his ultra-long toenails swiping my shin at some point during the slumber. What John doesn’t care to know is that I had been laying there for the past ten minutes trying to have the courage to get out of bed on my own and take a shower, brush my teeth, and reveal myself to the world on my own. I never have the strength. It would make it easier, that is, bathing before he abandons me for the day, but I love the comfort of my bed and the security of my world that is hidden under my pillow and in my splendiferous evening love affair with “don’t lose my faith in you”, Sting. Only with my eyes shut is motherhood and sex a wonderful thing.