why my libido is not my best-friend anymore

why my libido is not my best-friend anymore

Note: Reader discretion advised

You still want to go on ? Ok don’t say I didn’t warn you…

So I’ve been putting off talking about the topic of sex for a while. Partially because I may have forgotten what it actually is, but mostly for the fear of scandalizing you poor souls out there. But to stay true to the motto of brutal honesty that ‘No Time to Moisturize’ aims to embody, I’m going to spill all.

Sex after having a kid is sort of like trying to climb a mountain with a bag of rocks on your back. You want to reach that damn peak (not very subtle with my puns am I?) so badly, but the load is weighing on you. It’s there, you can see it, this mirage of extreme carnal bliss, just a little more. Then- THUD! A bout of viral fever hits the little one and you’re reduced to playing the part of a tree that your koala bear kid refuses to let go of. She recovers and you start climbing again and… THUD! You get your period and your ovaries take over.

I used to have access to a buffet of – Weekend sex, make-up sex, vacation sex, I-just-got-a-full-body-wax-come-ravage-me sex. Now it seems there’s only one depressing category called ‘only after Ri sleeps’ sex. Do you know what it’s like to put your libido on a timetable ? I mean we women are wired differently right? We need the wooing and naughty whispers to set the mood. But there’s no time for that extinct dinosaur named ‘Foreplay’ anymore.

The minute Ri tumbles into a deep slumber , there’s a silent announcement of- ‘Your time starts NOW!’ One hundred twenty minutes to do the laundry, dishes and the husband; and still hopefully find time to finish that book I’ve been trying to read since I was pregnant.

While I do miss the days of spontaneous and interruption-free frolicking, there is a plus side to our plight – the financial savings on the accessories required for seduction. I no longer care for flowers or jewelry, seeing the hubster do the dishes and clear the kitchen is enough of a pantie-peeler. He doesn’t care that my legs haven’t been waxed in months or my bras are 99%functional and 1%sexy, being awake and willing is sufficient. Our needs have evolved.

But I must admit that nothing gives me more pleasure than snuggling in his warm arms and watching his eyes widen with horror as I suggest, “Want to give Ri some company?”


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