The L Word

Love. With it having just been Valentine’s Day I thought it was fitting.

I don’t actually mean love though, I mean sex, particularly sex after you’ve experienced something come out of where something usually goes in. Now we all know that sex was what got me in the position (waheeey!) that I’m in. The stork didn’t bring my baby after all.

During my pregnancy, my sex drive was ZERO. Pre-pregnancy, I was a toned, svelte size 10 with hints of 6 pack abs and incredible core strength. During pregnancy I really struggled with my body and when I say that I mean there were days when I couldn’t even look in the mirror without being repulsed. The idea that I was expanding at an uncontrollable rate was not something that sat well with me. I was one of these that when someone said ‘Do you love your bump,’ the word ‘No’ couldn’t have escaped my mouth quick enough. I clung on to my pre-pregnancy size 10 jeggings for as long as I could until they cut the circulation off in my thighs and left seam lines in my skin.

I was told many times by many people that I looked great during my pregnancy, my baby was healthy and growing well (a bit too well lying in the 87th percentile) and was set to be a healthy 9lber. The thought of labour and delivery was something incredible because I just wanted pregnancy to be OVER. My husband of course thought I was stunning. He couldn’t tell me enough how much he loved my body and loved knowing that I was growing his child and how much sexier he found me. In contrast, I found myself to be a puffy faced, front heavy lump who couldn’t lay on her back for more than 5 seconds without feeling like death was imminent. Lets just say the majority of the sex that occurred during my pregnancy took place in the 9 days past my due date it took for my child to make his appearance.

If you, like me, had the pleasure of having both your husband and mother as birthing partners, you’ll agree with me when I say that in the moment, you absolutely do not care who is looking at your vagina when you’re giving birth. I don’t think my mother has seen me that explicitly since she potty trained me and my husband, well, never. There’s nothing more romantic and intimate than watching a baby’s head crowing apparently. I didn’t see it but according to the two of them it was beautiful.

The usual occurred internally after I gave birth and a combination of breastfeeding and refusing to “take it easy” meant that I was back into my pre-pregnancy wardrobe before my son was two weeks old. Of course to my husband, being able to hug me closely and even snuggle up to me in bed meant that he had the wife of 9 months previous back and there were parts of him that showed it. My vagina however had a different plan. There was absolutely NO way that once a human had come out of me, and that he had seen it, that we would ever be having sex again. None. For one, it was probably gonna be like a wizards sleeve, the stitching from the second degree tear probably left me a mangled mess and hell chances are I probably wouldn’t feel anything anyway due to the trauma of a whole PERSON having come out of me.

I think my son was 5 weeks old when we eventually did the deed. I’d gone out with my mum for a night out to see Lady Leshurr and came back ridiculously drunk. I’d made up my mind in the taxi that I absolutely would be ridin’ dirty with my husband tonight. Well when I got home that was it, I was like some rampant goddess attempting to over compensate by swishing my hair, daringly approaching the task on the stairs (logistical nightmare) and attempting to throw my legs around in a million different ways to hide the fact that maybe things won’t be the same. Well, 10 failed positions and a bout of whiplash later, we both went to sleep knackered and happy.

I mean I still haven’t looked down there but apparently its better than before. Anyone who says finding time to have sex when you have a baby is hard? It’s not. They go to sleep at 7. Always a bit of time for some late night slap and tickle.


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