Wednesday, May 25, 2005

How E-Lo Got Her Groove Back

Being in my 16th week and 4th official month of pregnancy I can finally say that I’m BACK. And when I say BACK, I mean my girl parts are working. The last time I wanted to have sex was February, so I really believe I’ve reached a milestone here, people. I had a hard time getting my husband to comply. It’s discouraging, to say the least, when you are pregnant and feeling fat and completely unsexy (except for those BOOBS, the BEST BOOBS EVER) when your husband refuses your advances. In my darkest moments I thought, “or it could be that he finds me absolutely repulsive.”

I can totally understand how a man could refuse sex with a woman who suddenly gained 13 pounds, whose stomach is sticking out like a sore thumb, who farts like a senile old man in a nursing home and cries over anything. It’s almost like sticking your dick into a ticking time bomb. You never know exactly what’s going to happen, so it’s best just NOT to do it. I was afraid that when he finally caved in and felt sorry enough for me to give me some mercy sex that it would only last 5 seconds. And of all the things that a pregnant woman should fear, the endurance of her husband during intercourse should not be one of them.

I did the deed out of pity in my first trimester. On those days that my heart wasn’t in it due to having baby thoughts all day and wanting to just SLEEP FOR CHRISTS SAKE LEAVE ME ALONE. I can say it was more of a let down for him than it was for me. Because I couldn’t get into it and required “assistance” (i.e. KY) I felt discouraged not only that I was tired, but that I would never feel desire like a normal human being again. This would lead me on the downward spiral of pregnancy emotions that I’ve talked about so frequently and the downward spiral and sex DO NOT MIX. So I’d have to stop him short cause, ugh, sex felt so gross. It made me want to curl up in a ball and cry in the shower like that scene from “Leaving Los Vegas” the most horrific movie EVER (except without the bleeding ass).

The thing about marriage and sex, and I’ll be the first to admit it, is that yes, it does get boring. Evolutionarily speaking, monogamy doesn’t work. Love and emotions and fond feelings and friendship and comfort sticks around and lingers on and on but desire and lust can fade out if you let it. The night before fuzzball was conceived was probably the best, most impulsive, lustful, insane night of doin’ it that we’ve had in a llllooooonnnnnggggg time. A bar, alcohol, and making out in the car was involved. The living room floor was then involved. Tearful orgasms were involved. Actual talk of baby-making was involved- even though we DIDN’T MEAN IT OH CRUEL GOD! We passed out exhausted and resumed the next morning much to our demise. That was when it happened. When fuzzball snuck in there.

I should point out that I do love my husband, probably more and more with each passing day. And I obviously do desire him, otherwise I wouldn’t be writing this post. I’m proud to say that yesterday I was a successful seductress. I had my doubts about how I was going to convince him that he needed to have sex with his poor, pitiful, pregnant wife. So I flat out asked him, “do you want to have sex?” Which is what I normally do, because you might as well cut to the chase.

FINALLY! Success.

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