Life-improving products, part 4 - (Continued from part 1, part 2, and part 3.) Stearns Youth Life Vest (photo from Amazon.com). I’d been too scared to take the kids to any body of water oth...
July 12, 2007
Henry is six weeks old today. I am imagining you all greeting that news with Jerry-Springer-audience sounds: lascivious woooops or sympathetic groans, depending on how you felt or feel or think you'd feel about having sex after taking care of a newborn all day and night for six weeks following nine months of carrying another human being around in a body built for one.
I copied Devan's idea and made my six-week OB appointment (note: for those of you who are not hip to the childbearing thang, this is the appointment at which the OB gives you permission to Resume Relations) for more like seven weeks, but even so, here we are within a headache's distance of it.
Listen, I am well aware that many women CAN'T WAIT to start having sex again. Some of them are rumored to be so hot for it, they break the 6-week rule. I'm not saying we can't be friends anymore if you feel that way about it, but I'm more at the end of the spectrum where Jamie from Mad About You tries to get away with telling her husband that it's six months.
Having a baby is very, very physical, and I am not a touchy-snuggly person to start with. Holding and nursing the baby maxes out my desire to feel warm skin against mine. Burping and changing the baby maxes out my desire to deal with another person's bodily fluids.
And that's not even including topics such as whether I can imagine doing anything in a nice soft bed except sleeping, or whether I can imagine having sex with someone who spent his whole evening on the computer while I held a crying baby.
I'm not interested, that's all. Part of it is hormonal (at my 6-week post-William appointment, my OB said cheerfully, "This is what you can look forward to after menopause!"), part of it is the circumstances (newborn, sleep deprivation, milk everywhere, incision just barely finished healing), and part of it is my own personal capacity for physical contact (low).
Simple to explain that to a husband? Um, no. So next week I have to choose birth control (all the options suck) and then I have to act Happy To See Him.
Posted by Swistle at 10:21:00 AM