You know, parenthood can be spectacularly unsexy. Now, I’m sure there are people who would vehemently disagree with me on that statement — possibly while gesturing to the Sybian lurking in their hall closet, ready to erupt into full 120 RPM power as soon as the kids go down for their afternoon nap — but as far as I’m concerned there’s nothing like living with a toddler and an infant to really put a cramp in your style. I mean, there’s the spontaneity issue, or should I say lack thereof; there’s the issue of feeling physically drained after a day of dealing with pint-sized dictators; and as the mother of two boys, there’s a nontrivial amount of head-fuckery that goes on when you deal with miniscule penises all the time and you’re suddenly confronted with an adult-sized one. It’s like . . . well, it’s a little like seeing some kind of freaky, yet faintly comical space creature. Like something in the Mos Eisley Cantina.

(“Hi, I’m an admin for a group called Exotic Sex Toy and Nerdy Star Wars References, and we’d love to have this added to the group!”)

Plus, there is nothing, NOTHING that can kill a mood faster than hearing someone’s little sheep-bleat from the next room: “Eh-heh. Eh-HEH. EHHHH.” Hoo, boy. I suppose actually having a child barge into the room and demand to know why Daddy’s [REDACTED] is on Mommy’s [HILARIOUS EUPHEMISM] would be worse, but a baby’s cry is definitely like a Titanic’s worth of ice-water right on your privates.

It’s not all flaccidity and granny panties, of course, but these days when I think of the letter G I’m more apt to think of General Audience than spot, you know? The other day JB joked that while he’s out of town this week I should invite a girlfriend over to “help me out while he’s gone”, wink wink nudge nudge, and when I rolled my eyes and asked him who in hell he thought I could shanghai into pitching in with round-the-clock diaper changes he said no, not that kind of help, har de har hoo heh ha, and I was all, whatever with your stupid lesbo fantasy, dude, I’m staring down the barrel of another week of solo shit-shrapnel duty over here and my brain has no room for hot girl on girl action, not even if it was Angelina Jolie sporting those Tomb Raider thigh holster deals and a support team of French-speaking nannies.

A prime example of the effect parenthood can have on one’s sex life: while I laughed out loud at the scene in Burn After Reading when a Liberator sex wedge made its appearance (thus outing myself to the entire viewing audience as a person who recognized that triangular shape for what it was, which is to say, not a reflux pillow), my own personal Liberator sex wedge has been permanently repurposed as a children’s “slide”. Because once you’ve seen a toddler joyously rolling down the incline of a Liberator sex wedge, you can never really imagine it being used for any other activity ever again.

(At least I can say this has never happened in our house. Yet.)

The upside to being flattened under a daily tidal wave of unsexy domesticity is that the most boring things on earth are now profoundly pleasing to me. Fuck dirty talk, just tell me how you emptied the dishwasher. Oh yeah. Talk to me about how you did the laundry . . . oh! . . . and actually took clothes out of the dryer and put them away. Yes! Yes! YES! Ahhhh.


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15 years ago

See, babies crying can be sexy, you just have to be a very twisted person. For example, I could imagine getting it on whilst a baby was crying if I was banging Jamie Presley up in that shoddy trailer she has on my name is Earl. In this scenario she would be so trashy and irresponsible that her baby would cry unattended almost all the time, therefore putting her in a mental bracket along with hookers or drunk sorority girls. Basically she would be so undesirable for a relationship that I would have no problem ignoring everything around me and focusing on strictly one time, crazy, twister, limbo, wrastlin monkey sex with some eye candy I don’t care about. See if you can’t pitch that one to JB.

On a side note, what you are basically saying is that when you aren’t busy with children and or babies, and have time alone, you fantasize about Angelina Jolie and french maids? That’s what I heard anyway. I bet JB could find a baby sitter if you let him in on that one.

Side side note: Do they have like, baby kennels or something? Like a place where they put your baby in a hermetically sealed pod for a week while you travel the world and use robot arms to feed and change it or whatever. If not they should.

15 years ago

Ha, I just thought of something hilarious. When JB comes back you should give him a cantaloupe with a hole in it for his dick, and tell him you must have misheard. You thought he wanted to piss you off by leaving you alone for a week with the kids so he could bag a cantaloupe.

God I’m juvenile.


[…] Please go read it all. […]

girl in greenwood
15 years ago

“My first thought when I saw the sex wedge in Burn After Reading was, “Linda has one of those!” ”

DITTO! Hee. Linda’s edumacting the entire interweb.

15 years ago

I feel your pain it is very difficult to find private time with your s.o i have three kids so time is limited til after they go to bed them im tired as hell.

15 years ago

I have not read your blog in (literally) months, due to huge stinking globs of work, parenting, etc. etc. etc., but I have to say that when I stopped by for a visit today and read this entry, I laughed until Diet Coke dribbled out my nose and realized that my life is significantly better (and certainly more entertained) with several weekly doses of Sundry.

(BTW – my sweetie and I had a good chuckle in the theatre when the wedge appeared, and only later did I realize that maybe there was some other use for it besides sex and the assumption of its sole use betrays what a PERV I am.)


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