Un-sexy sex

Is there anything less sexy in the whole goddamn world than baby making sex? I think not. Not, I hasten to add, that I am in the throws of such activities, but it is on my mind... See Husband and I are of the theory 'in for a penny, in for a pound' where Sprogs are concerned. And, although mentally I feel as fresh as a daisy, physically I'm no spring chicken. So if we are gonna throw another grenade into our happy little existence where Sproglet sleeps until 8:30am at weekends, we'd better get a move on.

Casting my mind back to when we conceived Sproglet - I want to tell you he was the product of a champagne fuelled night of passion in a rustic country lodge replete with roaring fire. In reality it was Husband cursing me for waving my ovulation sticks whilst he was trying to watch the match, and him subsequently being marched into bed where he lay like a virgin awaiting his fate. All this 'sex on demand' aint half well... unsexy. Weeing on sticks, temperature charting, checking EWM (I give initials only as it is too grim to say) and all the loopy stuff one can do in order to maximise their chances of conception make the whole process more of a science project rather than a passion one. I almost feel like if we delve into these tepid waters again, I should be wearing goggles, drawing graphs and composing a results table mid shag.

There is the added problem that Husband works nights, gets in at 3- 4am and I am up with Sproglet whilst still in darkness to get us both out the door on time. When exactly are we meant to meet in the middle? When one of us is comatose? Please don't suggest leisurely weekend morning sex. We have a small child. Anyone with children under 5 who can't afford nannies will have difficulty remembering when they last had lazy Sunday morning sex... Or else they are lying. Or have grandparents next door. Or are fucking show offs. Yes, yes, we could plan a weekend away, but for that to co-incide with all the scientific stuff would be a miracle, and frankly a bit of a downer on an otherwise fab weekend. After cocktails, a 5 course meal, two bottles of red and some fine port to end - and go on, a bit of cheese - who really wants to have a baby making shaggathon?

Like I say - we haven't made a firm decision on this one yet. Every time Sproglet throws a teenage style strop we shrink away from the thought of doubling our stress loads. Until then I might just hold out hope that the stork really exists...