(Editor's note: this post is written without any research of any kind and is not to be represented as actual research since I was too lazy to do any type of research in the first place and this is only based on my observations and actual conversations and I'm already giving way too much information away, so never mind...)
While at the wedding this weekend, I ran into several old friends who have, since high school, gone to college, met and married men, and had children. The birthing war stories were plentiful due to an open bar and then we started talking about how life had changed since these dang kids showed up at our doors. The topics ranged from who does more to how we view our husbands to sex, sex, sex. (Ladies and gentlemen, the following is Rated M for mature content.)
Our husbands floated in and out of the conversation, usually long enough to catch a whiff of what we were pow-wowing about and then backing away slowly. VERY SLOWLY.
Birthing stories out of the way, (us C-section women will usually claim defeat to natural birthing stories since we never EXPERIENCED THE HORRIBLE PAIN THAT KEPT GRIPPING ME EVERY OTHER MINUTE AND DID I MENTION THE PUSHING? NO DRUGS, NOT ME! I DID IT AU NATURAL! IDOLIZE ME!) we moved on to our husbands. Poor men. They never know what's hitting them until they read about it the next day.
"My husband doesn't seem to understand how tired I am. I mean, I work just as many hours as he does, but when we all get home, I have to make dinner, I have to make sure the baby is fed and bathed, I have to put the baby to sleep because he doesn't feel the connection with the baby like I do. And then he wants sex on top of everything else?"
"Well, my husband thinks that even though I'm home all day with the baby, the laundry should still be done, the floors swept, and dinner should be on the table at the same time the baby wants to eat. He seems to think I can multi-task while nursing!"
It goes on from there, but I'll spare you the rest of those comments. The sex part is what really got us talking.
"I just don't feel it anymore. I don't feel sexy. I don't feel like I did before the baby."
"I'm afraid he'll start looking around if he thinks I'm ignoring him."
"My libido is gone. And he ALWAYS wants to."
"Mine seems to think I have my period. I've had my "period" for 2 weeks now!"
We all seemed to agree on the fact that men and women seem to view life after baby very differently. Men can't seem to see the forest for the trees. All we women see ARE the trees. And every one of those trees represents something we need to do right then.
Why do men feel that life goes on as normal after a baby is born? Just another mouth to feed, no worries.
Why do women feel that everything has changed in every aspect of their lives after a baby is born, including how it affects what color nail polish she wears?
I really wanted a man's opinion, so, l am using John as an example since he's within reaching distance. Plus, I usually don't have to choke an honest answer out of him.
"John, what do you think about during your day?"
He looks at me, confused. This could be a completely innocent question without motive. This could be an invitation to a fight. He needs clarification. "What do you mean?"
"How many times a day at work do you think about Sprite?"
He shrugs. "She's always in my thoughts, but not right there at the forefront. I know she's at day care, I know she's safe. I'll see her at the end of the day."
Ah ha! Here's where we differ. I think about Sprite in every aspect of my day. When I see that it's raining outside, I wonder if she's out in the playground at school, caught in the downpour, and hope the teachers are paying attention to get her out of the rain. When I look at the clock and see it's noon, I wonder if she's napping and if she will have a long enough nap today since that will foretell what time to put her to bed. I ask the teachers endless questions when I pick Sprite up at the end of the day to see what she ate, how much she ate, and how her diapers were so I know that she's already had fish today, therefore our menu for dinner will be chicken, and I won't be (too) horribly surprised if I change her diaper and find 3 shades of red from a diaper rash which has been simmering all day.
John walks into the school, signs her out, picks her up, and doesn't really bother to learn the names of the teachers in her room or the other kids. He just doesn't think it's that important. He got what he came for. Mission accomplished.
Encouraged by this trend I was sensing, I delve further into John's psyche, although he does not like me messing with his stuff, mentally or physically.
"What about when she goes to sleep?"
John rolls his eyes. "I put her in her crib. The monitor is on. I'll know if she's crying. What else do I need to do? Check on her twenty times a night like you do? She's OKAY."
I have a night time ritual which started when Sprite was born. She's been asleep for an hour. Check on her. Look over her for a couple of minutes to confirm breathing motions. Rest hand lightly on chest area or back area depending on how Sprite is flipped and confirm my earlier confirmation. Lather, rinse, repeat almost every hour until I fall asleep myself. I have been known to wake up to use the bathroom at 3 AM, and pick up the monitor to see if I can HEAR her breathing, and if I can't, I will go to her room and check on her myself. Sprite is well past the danger zone for SIDS, but I dare you to find me a mama who doesn't do this for at least the first 5 months. Go ahead. I'll be right here waiting.
See? I told you.
Oh, sex. What can I say about sex in the most vague general way since my parents read this blog regularly? Sprite was conceived through immaculate conception. John had the most honorable intentions. I swear I never have done anything remotely sexual in my entire life. And I'm a virgin. No? Okay, moving on.
Honestly speaking, I think sex has suffered. It's just not as important as it once was. Where it used to be Number 5 and rising (enough snickering out there, people!), now it's Number 25 and falling behind the dishes which seem to be reproducing on their own since I don't remember using that many dishes to make dinner and when did we purchase a fondue pot and how the hell did it get dirty?
Other aspects of our relationship have risen up through the charts like rockets and now hold an untouchable solid gold status. Like teamwork. We rely on each other so readily now to pick up the slack when one of us just can't do everything. "You take Sprite and play, I'll do the dishes and set the laundry up." "I'm getting on the treadmill, can you give Sprite her bath?" "I just don't feel like it, dammit! YOU do it!" (To defend myself, the last one has only been used once, and I was really tired and felt a cold coming on and I don't really feel like I owe you any further explanation, so there.)
We have managed to salvage our time without the Sprite (no, that's not a typo, I sometimes refer to our daughter as "The Sprite". I think it's cute. Stop questioning me!) to once a month when her daycare graciously opens their doors for a babysitting program in which we get to make them deal with the effects of giving the kids too much sugar during the day and trying to make them sleep when there's no way they could POSSIBLY sleep while they can hear Elmo traveling through Grouch-land which is on for the older kids in the next room.
During this time, we typically have dinner and see a movie, not because we're not romantic, but because we're TIRED. I have just enough energy to keep my eyes open after 9 PM. Dancing and karaoke are just not in my cards.
Yes, we can pull romance out when it's really needed, but sometimes John needs to be reminded that a foot rub means a foot rub, nothing else.
Now, we could go even deeper into THAT issue, but not tonight, honey. I have a headache.
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