I was so convinced that my vagina would be demolished through childbirth that I spent close to $100.00 on online orders of plus-size adult diapers, perineum shaped ice packs, and Tucks antiseptic wipes. I thought for sure, looking at my 6’4” husband, that our baby, Otis, would destroy me and leave me crotch-broken for months.
Although labor was an insane 36 hours, with an epidural that ONLY froze my legs (thank you modern science), my vagina magically came out of the trauma relatively un-traumatized.
Three days postpartum I went out for all you can eat sushi; One week postpartum I was taking short strolls through High Park; Two weeks postpartum I was lacing up for lengthy 5k walks with the stroller. Physically I felt great, rejuvenated and ambitious.
One feeling that struck me quite early (and maybe I’m alone on this one) is the feeling of being really horny. Hormones? Sexy Husband? By week three I felt ready to party again. My midwife said to wait until week six to avoid infection – but on week four baby and I took an afternoon walk to our local drugstore and found ourselves standing in front of the condom shelf, confused by the unfamiliar brands and logos.
Feeling like a sheepish teenager perusing the possibilities of protection I grabbed a dozen “thin silk” lubricated condoms. I purchased a Bounty chocolate bar and some Windex as well to make my check out a little less awkward for everyone involved.
On the walk home I listened to some old Usher tracks and sent my husband a text:
“Lets have sex tonight”
His reply: “Are you sure we’re allowed? Okay. I’m excited”
I chuckled at his use of the word “allowed” – as if the Midwifery Police would break in and suspend our Fuck License.
The evening unfolded like any other, with poopy diapers, breast pumping and a lacklustre dinner while taking turns bouncing a newborn on our hips. Around 8pm I managed to slip away in an effort to make an effort for postnatal coitus. I shaved my armpits, legs and toes. I considered tackling the lady bush but realized that my razor wasn’t sharp enough for that jungle.
I stood in front of the mirror. I wasn’t a slender gal to begin with, so I wasn’t shocked or saddened by the extra pounds so much as the way they now positioned themselves on my body. My chub (previously full and tight) now looked like weighted flesh-coloured bread loaves trying to leap from my belly only to find themselves bungee’d to my body by loose skin.
I took a look at my nipples; my Areola Grande’s. They had starburst over my breasts without a clear definitive stop or finish. I decided to draw attention up towards my face by putting a little makeup on; I even plucked those three chin hairs that returned after pregnancy (hello old friends). In the process I decided to put a little foundation on my boobs to tone down the nipple extravaganza.
I found a pair of sexy underwear. As I was trying to hike them up my hands literally ripped through the lace as if I was a hybrid between Magic Mike and The Hulk. Toss. I found another pair and got them up only to realize that parts of my body were forced to bulge out where my subtle vaginal mound was supposed to be. Toss. I found a black cotton thong. It was so old that the crotch had been dyed a pink hue from years of vagina sweat and tears. Oh well; at least they fit.
Over that I slipped on a black sheer negligee that I wore pre-pregnancy. My breasts were heaving to the point of discomfort; the cleavage looked full on Elizabethan (in a sexy way) so I decided to endure.
Fully sexy now I got into bed and waited for husband. I hear:
Husband: “Are you coming down to help with baby?”
Me: “No – just bring him up and lets go to bed”
15 minutes later I hear:
Husband: “Do you know where the baby wipes are?”
Me: “There’s a fresh pack in the diaper bag by the front door, under your grey jacket. Hurry up and come to bed.”
Another 15 minutes later I hear husband coming up the stairs with Otis in his arms. Oh yeah, Otis is now part of the equation. Although I’d like to say being a new mom has me feeling baby blessed 24/7, it simply isn’t true. There are moments already where I think “oh he’s cute but he’s also a bit of a drag”. This was one of those moments.
Husband looked at me in bed and recalled the text. He lifted an eyebrow as he gently lowered Otis into the bassinet next to our bed, “You look great babe”. I was instantly forgiven for my lack of assistance with the baby bedtime routine as my husband clued in and joined his sexy wife in bed for some shenanigans.
I’m not in the business of writing erotica (although it could be a good money maker during mat leave…) so I will spare the explicit details. Business started to ensue. A few layers of clothes came off and we were in full make out mode. Husband looks up at me to say something smooth but I can’t hear anything because all I can see is my face/nipple foundation brushed across his cheek. I choose not to ruin the moment and simply pretend like it wasn’t there.
It’s time for the sex. It’s sexy time. We’re doing this. I’m losing my postnatal virginity. Let’s do this. Husband sheaths up and it is go time.
It doesn’t hurt but it doesn’t not hurt.
Me: “Go slow”
Okay, this is okay. It feels like maybe I’m not very wet. Breastfeeding maybe dries you out? Is that a thing? He doesn’t seem to notice. Wait, is it weird that we’re having sex right now with the baby in the same room? Can the baby see us? No, it’s not weird. We have to live our lives. We’ve had sex in front of the dogs a thousand times – same thing. I’m a modern woman. I’m badass. This is how its done. This is probably quite European of us. Europeans are always so healthy about their bodies and bodily functions.
Me: “You can go a bit faster”
Okay, this feels familiar. Sex is great. Sex feels the same. Does it feel the same for him? Is he taking longer than normal? Oh shit, maybe I’m super stretched out and it’s terrible. Maybe I’m different now and I’ll never be as good. I used to be really good. Maybe I was never THAT good… I’ll ask…
Me: “Is it good, is it the same as it was?”
Husband: “It’s great – it feels really good”
Oh shit, the baby made a noise. He’s going to cry. If he cries do we stop? Is it child abuse if we keep going until we finish? Why isn’t this on the baby app? What if he made that noise because a blanket somehow was kicked over his face? Why isn’t he making the noise again? Maybe he is dead. Shit. I bet he’s dying right now and we’re here just fucking – the kind of negligent parents you’d see on a movie like Trainspotting. Baby is being really quiet. When the police ask what happened (because we’ll need to fill out a report) do we lie or do we say we were fucking while our baby suffocated just a few feet away? They’ll ask why I had sex before the recommended 6 weeks. I should check on him.
Okay good. That sounded normal and lively. In fact it sounded super cute, like he’s babbling. He’s advanced. I was really hoping he’d get my propensity for language and articulation; sounds like he’s off to a good start. Young scholar. I need to call more daycares, get him on more waiting lists. Montessori even. So Fancy. Only the best for Otis. Except we can’t afford that. We can’t even afford to buy a house in this stupid city. I’m a terrible mother.
Husband: “I’m getting close”
Oh yeah, sex! Is that a blackhead on husband’s shoulder? How long has that been there? I wonder if he’ll let me look at it after.
Husband: “Are you close as well?”
Me: “I think so”
I just lied, I’m like a good 10 minutes away. Oh well, I can always take care of things on my…
Husband Orgasms and rolls onto his back.
Otis: “Wah, wah, wahhhh”
I hop out of bed and run to the bassinet and am greeted by a wailing newborn baby. I scoop him up and bring him back into the bed where his parents’ sinful deeds are still likely detectable by a forensic light. The baby settles and as I look into his eyes I run my hand over my leg only to feel a few stray hairs that I had missed earlier.
Husband: “We’ve still got it, babe”
Me: “Yeah, we sure do”
Erica Moore is an Interior Designer with a degree in Fine Arts and Literature. She is a wife, and mother to 2 dogs and 1 baby. She is also a very hilarious human being. Check out her blog and keep up with her on Instagram.
Featured Image via Alva Bernadine on Instagram