Dear Husband,
When you first met me, I was hot stuff. I was a lady in the street and a freak in the bed. I was a wild thing and I made your heart sing.
We can chalk some of my early awesomeness up to timing. Not only was I in the throes of my 30-something sexual peak, but I had recently befriended a professional burlesque dancer who convinced me to throw out my granny panties and invest in some lingerie. That is why the first time you and I got naked together, my bra and underwear not only matched but also cost more than my cable bill.
You probably thought I’d always owned a garter belt and always would. But that item got Goodwill-ed right around the time I was put on pelvic rest with our first baby.
I had to open up space in my dresser for all the maternity bras—you understand.
There was a long dry spell during the pregnancy, birth, recovery and newborn phase, but eventually we got back on track, didn’t we? Sure, instead of you ripping off my lacy underthings, I was unbuttoning my own flannel pajamas, but we still found the time and energy somehow. A cynic might say it was because I wanted a second baby, but I wanted you too, I swear.
Then that second baby came and she rewired my damn brain.
In the place where I used to think about jumping your bones, I now make lists and calendars. Foreplay and afterglow were kicked out of bed to make room for healthy snack recipes and summer camp enrollment forms. I still have passionate desires, but the conquest I’m jonesing for is a full night’s sleep.
These days, when it comes to our love life, we are two ships passing in the night. Scratch that, ships are way too romantic an analogy.
We are two garbage barges passing in the night.
One or both of us has always caught some nasty virus from our children. I have rarely showered. You are giving me the “look” and then before I can verbalize some lame excuse, you have fallen asleep sitting up. This our life now as the parents of two small kids.
What I want to say is that I am so sorry about the sex.
It was great once and I think we both know it will be great again, but I can’t tell you exactly when that will be.
Just keep giving me the “look” (I miss it when you don’t!) and maybe—just maybe—we’ll both be healthy and awake enough to fall on top of each other (though if there is a machine that can do the work for us, I’d be very open to that.)
During this challenging time, just remember that there is no one else I would rather procrastinate sex with than you.
Love,
Your Lame Wife
