POSTCARDS FROM THE EDGE—OF PARENTHOOD

POSTCARDS FROM THE EDGE—OF PARENTHOOD
February Postcards

THE FAMILY GROOVE'S RESIDENT MOM-ENTATOR,
SASHA BROWN-WORSHAM REPORTS ON THE MADNESS OF MOTHERHOOD

SEX IN THE TIME OF PARENTHOOD

Three weeks before the birth of my first daughter, when I was swollen,
uncomfortable and horrified by my bloated body, distended fingers and
inability to see my toes, my midwife suggested I have more sex.

I laughed.

“Seriously,” she told me. “If you want her to come sooner, try having more sex.”

If only it were that easy. Since discovering that sex had a greater function beyond fun and feeling, my mojo had lessened considerably. Every time my husband came near me, I worried about the baby—would all that jostling hurt her? I worried about the way my body looked—could I really seem attractive to anyone? And most of all, I worried about discomfort as I could not lie on my stomach, back side or pretty much in any position that did not involve three propped pillows and a Snoogle.

I took her advice anyway. I figured it couldn't hurt. And sure enough, my daughter emerged from the womb two weeks early, her birth a product of the same process that created her.

Sex in a marriage goes through many phases. When my husband and I were first together, we could not get enough. We chased each other around the house, canceling plans so we could stay home in bed. We were young, fun and sexy and our sex was the same. And thanks to the pill, sex only served one purpose: pleasure.

A few years into our marriage, our sex shifted. We still enjoyed it, still had fun. However, the details of life penetrated our sex life and between graduate school, careers and the business of marriage (i.e. buying the house, decorating the house, merging of finances and caring for our pet). Sex was always there, a guaranteed given. And so, like many couples, we took it for granted.

Our pregnancy came as a welcomed surprise—not planned, but not maligned either. We were not being as careful as we might have been had we not wanted it, but we also did not expect it to work. Was it possible that this thing I had been doing for 10 years had been so powerful all along?

Two months after the birth of my daughter I saw my midwife again. My body was still swollen; I had twenty pounds left to lose and had not managed to change out of sweatpants for three days. “If you feel up to it, you could start having sex again,” she cheerfully told me after checking my stitches.

I didn’t. I feared I might never feel like it again.
Sex in the time of Parenthood

“Men and women should not even be in the same bed for the first year after childbirth,” a friend said. Her daughter was the same age as mine and she was having similar issues. The idea of anything going into the place where something so large just exited was not only unappealing, it was downright absurd. I dreaded the shower, dreaded seeing my unfamiliar, doughy, soft body, naked. I know sex is not all about physical appearance, but it certainly helps to not feel like Grimace.

Sex, it seemed, was for young people, people who had not just shoved a watermelon through a garden hose. Besides, I was not anxious to engage in anything that might force me through the process all over again. “Can’t we just have a sex-free marriage like all those 40-year-olds in Ohio?” I asked him. My husband is a patient man. And so he waited.

He waited until I acquiesced, less because I wanted to and more because I felt a sense of obligation. The first few times were painful, uncomfortable and awkward. Later, I confided to a friend that it was like high school sex—he was afraid of hurting me and I was only doing it to please him.

For two months, we continued in this fashion. I worried my drive might never return, that I was now a stereotype—the wife who stops trying after she has her child. And so I gritted my teeth and endured.

As the months went by, things started to shift. Sex—something that had once been a fun diversion—became focused. Before, I’d always had the vague notion that sex was fun and worth pursuing, kind of like cheesecake. Sex was a fashion show, a one-dimensional party. I figured all those people who talk about transcendence and multiple orgasms were lying.

But now? Things are different. Sex created my child. And my husband is so much more than ripped abs and broad shoulders. There is no bigger turn-on than watching him hold our infant daughter, his hands cupping her tiny head, cradling her to give a bottle. He was the one who sat with me through 11 hours of labor; who held my hands while I pushed Sam into the world.

And then there is me. My body is different, scarred from the pregnancy and birth, two silver streaks covering the fleshy pocket of skin that jiggles over my once taut midsection. A year before, I would have cried. But after Sam, I wear the scars proudly. She is mine. I am a woman. I feel firmly planted in my body humbled by its supreme capability. It is the kind of sexy no Beverly Hills plastic surgeon can create. It has nothing to do with bra size or weight or any of the other temporal factors, on which I once squared my time on.

When it is right, a child is the quintessential personification of the bond between two people. When I look at my daughter, I see my face merged with my husband’s. I love her for her, yes. But I also love her for what she represents: the deepening relationship with my husband. Once upon a time our relationship was comprised of a physical and emotional connection now it has a rich spiritual component as well. We are connected in ways I previously could not imagine.

And the result? Hot sex—lots of it. I finally understand what all those bodice rippers and sex columns have been touting. The childbirth books speak of diminished desire and suggest lubrication, but nobody talks about the other possibility. What if sex is better?

I mentioned it to a couple of friends who were also more than a few months past the birth. “I have more orgasms now,” one mom told me while another giggled and admitted that she, too, was enjoying sex more post-baby. Was this an added benefit of child rearing previously ignored? Had we stumbled into the secret to transcendent sex?

Not all moms agree. Some say sex is worse, or nonexistent. “I am never in the mood,” one mom told me, considering her nine-month-old is clutching and wanting to nurse. Another mom agreed. “There are too many things that want a piece of my body each day,” she said. Then she laughed. “Maybe you are just a freak.”

Maybe I am. I certainly do not have all the answers. Maybe it is different for some women than it is for others. Maybe it takes some women longer. But if I am a freak, I will take it. And I know at least one person who appreciates my inner freakdom. And he is just the man I want.

Sasha Brown-Worsham is a mother and freelance writer who lives in Boston, MA where she writes and chases her suddenly mobile daughter around the house.