We can’t possibly talk about what revs your engine if the keys can’t even get into the ignition, right?
And it’s like, I’m a sports car, cherry red—No. Classy white with cream seats, and you’re trying to drive me like a truck. No no no. Get the OTHER keys. Grownup.
I believe in the power of lingerie to tame our men. Or at least make them think it’s for them. I’m not talking Victoria Secret. That stuff is only good for period underwear. Don’t expect to feel sexy or worth it if you’re wearing $6 cotton undies. Clean your bathroom with them, and that is all.
I’m talking about buying the French stuff. The stuff that matches. The stuff that isn’t practical anywhere but on you for ten minutes tops and then balled up on the floor for the rest of its time. The stuff that makes you feel like anything but a mom, but can also easily help you become one. It’s an investment—but you, my dear are worth every penny. Then light some candles, maybe fold the laundry and put it away (or at least hide it). Make that bed of yours. Grownup.
After you have your stage set, its all about timing. Grownup.
Oh. Yeah, when on earth are we going to EVER find time for intimacy? Get a sitter and a hotel room? Set an alarm and wake up at 5 am? Stay up late? Well, yes to all of this. We get it in when we can, where we can. One time we were in a fancy bathroom in a fancy restaurant. Another was um, his moms car (Let us all for a moment close our eyes and pretend that never happened. Thank you.). So, mostly, like 90% of the time, this takes place at home, and usually with kids pounding on the door while my forehead hits the headboard in unison.
But wait, you must be thinking: This can’t be sustainable! No one can keep up with that! Somehow we do. Sex is a priority. If we don’t make it one, then it’s all too easy to let your marriage get away from you. Family and work and home stuff is a time suck and you will find excuses not to do it. It’s hard to get it back to honeymoon status or earlier once it’s past a certain point. But rekindling that fire between the sheets without running like hell from the flames takes some trying and some intentional reclaiming of the bedroom.
Sometimes, though, he gets creative.
Look, I consider myself a simple girl. But my husband likes to take me into sex shops like it was a grocery store. Living in Portland, the sex capital of the universe, helps reduce the embarrassment factor. When we walk in, he clasps my hand like we’re on a date, but I know he’s secretly concerned I’ll run away, and directly into traffic like an unleashed dog. To put myself out of misery? Maybe so. These shops don’t turn me on at all. They make me laugh. Sometimes I wonder if my husband really wants me to become a clown. He takes me down aisles of things that boing and squirt and light up. These things are rubbery and sometimes have suction cups or other adhesive. I know its going to hurt while I’m also laughing my ass off. Sometimes we go down the aisle where I think he really wants me to become a carnie. There is NO WAY that object fits up anywhere on anyone unless you are from another planet.
After I’m through shaming everyone in the store with my jokes, he takes me to an upscale joint. These are places where you can be sure no one else has tried your vibrator before you have. These places are named after French cities and have pricey garter belts that would make him consider missing a car payment just to get it. The stores I prefer to go in have cute shop girls that might let my husband watch them undress a mannequin while I try stuff on. They have antique overstuffed, pin-tucked couches that you know came into the store from a boat. My husband sits on those couches like he owns the place. Grownup.
Believe it or not, it isn’t always about what happens in the bedroom that counts.
It’s about the other stuff that makes you your husbands muse. But it’s so damn easy to forget with everything else taking up space in your world. Shopping for lingerie together is foreplay. It can last for hours. My husband is more than happy to hop from store to store in search of the perfect three inches of fabric attached by lace that will undoubtedly get ruined. THAT is intimacy. Sometimes we hit happy hour and THEN shop for lingerie. Sometimes we’re on our way to get the kids from school and we have a few minutes to spare and we stop in our favorite spot. THAT is also intimacy. This usually leads to him getting champagne (my favorite) and chocolate so often that it makes Valentines Day look like a consolation prize, when it finally arrives. Grownup.
The point is to get as far away from being the mom you think you are in order to reclaim your intimacy. In order to do it like the day you met and wind up under the dining room table, you gotta honor yourself way more. Become the woman you want to be, who also happens to have children. There is room for both. Especially if the current version of you doesn’t seem to be working. I know it wasn’t for me. So I stopped putting square pegs into round holes, especially without lube.
This So-Called Mom
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