Otherwise known as Sexual Healing OR Something is healing over that's for sure....
Boom boom! No, but really....
I imagine that everyone else in the world is having lots of exciting, olympic gymnast style, uber exotic, wildly erotic, chandelier swinging sex. With soft lighting and sexy music and everything. Every night. And morning. And phone sex at lunchtime in the office toilets.
Here is also what I imagine - everyone is always immaculately hairless in all the important regions: men - nose and ears (although I do know one friend who trims his pubic region to make his willy appear bigger. Honestly.) women: lips, eyebrows, lady garden, underarms, legs, and in specific cases, arms and thighs too). Everyone looks amazeballs naked, with all that grooming and fake tanning and their ability to hit the gym all the time. (Something I, full time working mum of two doesn't even get to sniff).
And that everyone is having a thoroughly romantic time - with flowers and cocktails and weekend mini breaks and stuff. Diamonds, whatever. And it is all 50 shades of grey - all kinky fuckery and paddles and feathers and love balls and all the tasteful things one can aquire from shops like Coco La Mer. You never been there? I think I went back in oh, 1999... Certainly I had too much time on my hands - time to peruse feather lined corsets and glass blown dildos and actually hold a conversation with the owner of the store about erotic literature.
Yes, I read that book last year - oddly addictive, badly written. Well that's what I think you are all doing. Yes you. Why? Well everywhere you look - and by everywhere, I mean when you go to the movies - there is some immaculately toned, hard bodied fittie is getting in on with an equally hard bodied fittie - albeit one with fake boobs and some hair extensions. Not that I have any urges to shag such hard bodies - it would be like fucking a coffee table - Ryan Gosling aside. But it makes one feel inadequate.
So I feel this immense pressure that my own life should mirror this. But the reality is oh so different. Things wobble. People sweat. Pubic hairs get caught in all sorts of places. Positions are hard to hold. And that is before I'm even undressed. Plus, I have children. It is nothing short of amazing that people with one child actually go on to have any more kids. Where on earth do they get the time? I am sorry, but for the first year of my son's life if you had promised me a side splitting orgasm or 10 hours uninterrupted sleep - I know what I would have chosen and it didn't involve screaming.
When you first meet it is all passionate and thrilling and butterflies in stomach and 'will he call' and shaved legs and 'no eating garlic' and all that jazz. Cut to 5? 10? Years later - and you are hoping he never calls (only means something is wrong with the A. boiler, B. children. And actually due to cost you'd prefer it was B.). You haven't shaved your legs since '89 and you complain if you eat anything WITHOUT garlic. 'Where is the seasoning?' It is dodgy stomaches (children at nursery - dear god if only they would stop licking each other and then returning home to lick you) and passion - well what does that mean? Is it a fruit?
Sometimes we lie in bed on a Sunday night and I think 'we should be having all that passionate sex that everyone else is having.' But the Culture section has great reviews and my back kind of hurts and we have to get up in the morning and oh! There's a small child crying for a bottle and another saying 'Mummy I had a dream you were shot by an alien, can I sleep with you and Daddy?' And it all seems so much effort...
By passionate sex, I do not mean a quick legover to do wifely duties. (It isn't the 1870s). I mean the nights were you first met and you talked and shagged all night and you lived on air and tequila. These heady lust filled days when life was responsibility free and you could afford to not really give a damn.
It is very hard indeed.... to feel sexy with infant poo on one's jeans. Sick in your hair. Leg hair so long you could braid it. An abdomen riddled with C section smiles and boobs that point in different directions. After all sex starts with the mind doesn't it?? How does one feel vaguely hot (again - if ever) with all of the above? Drugs? Cocktails? Gym membership for Xmas? It really is the last taboo isn't it? No one talks sex any more - not even Dr Ruth. No one shares. So it leaves us all thinking that everyone else is all 9 and a half weeks, when according to some statistics, sex in marriage is more 9 and a half months...
Why don't we talk about it? Why do we all wander around thinking the above? Oh you don't. Whoops, just me then.
Boom boom! No, but really....
I imagine that everyone else in the world is having lots of exciting, olympic gymnast style, uber exotic, wildly erotic, chandelier swinging sex. With soft lighting and sexy music and everything. Every night. And morning. And phone sex at lunchtime in the office toilets.
Here is also what I imagine - everyone is always immaculately hairless in all the important regions: men - nose and ears (although I do know one friend who trims his pubic region to make his willy appear bigger. Honestly.) women: lips, eyebrows, lady garden, underarms, legs, and in specific cases, arms and thighs too). Everyone looks amazeballs naked, with all that grooming and fake tanning and their ability to hit the gym all the time. (Something I, full time working mum of two doesn't even get to sniff).
And that everyone is having a thoroughly romantic time - with flowers and cocktails and weekend mini breaks and stuff. Diamonds, whatever. And it is all 50 shades of grey - all kinky fuckery and paddles and feathers and love balls and all the tasteful things one can aquire from shops like Coco La Mer. You never been there? I think I went back in oh, 1999... Certainly I had too much time on my hands - time to peruse feather lined corsets and glass blown dildos and actually hold a conversation with the owner of the store about erotic literature.
Yes, I read that book last year - oddly addictive, badly written. Well that's what I think you are all doing. Yes you. Why? Well everywhere you look - and by everywhere, I mean when you go to the movies - there is some immaculately toned, hard bodied fittie is getting in on with an equally hard bodied fittie - albeit one with fake boobs and some hair extensions. Not that I have any urges to shag such hard bodies - it would be like fucking a coffee table - Ryan Gosling aside. But it makes one feel inadequate.
So I feel this immense pressure that my own life should mirror this. But the reality is oh so different. Things wobble. People sweat. Pubic hairs get caught in all sorts of places. Positions are hard to hold. And that is before I'm even undressed. Plus, I have children. It is nothing short of amazing that people with one child actually go on to have any more kids. Where on earth do they get the time? I am sorry, but for the first year of my son's life if you had promised me a side splitting orgasm or 10 hours uninterrupted sleep - I know what I would have chosen and it didn't involve screaming.
When you first meet it is all passionate and thrilling and butterflies in stomach and 'will he call' and shaved legs and 'no eating garlic' and all that jazz. Cut to 5? 10? Years later - and you are hoping he never calls (only means something is wrong with the A. boiler, B. children. And actually due to cost you'd prefer it was B.). You haven't shaved your legs since '89 and you complain if you eat anything WITHOUT garlic. 'Where is the seasoning?' It is dodgy stomaches (children at nursery - dear god if only they would stop licking each other and then returning home to lick you) and passion - well what does that mean? Is it a fruit?
Sometimes we lie in bed on a Sunday night and I think 'we should be having all that passionate sex that everyone else is having.' But the Culture section has great reviews and my back kind of hurts and we have to get up in the morning and oh! There's a small child crying for a bottle and another saying 'Mummy I had a dream you were shot by an alien, can I sleep with you and Daddy?' And it all seems so much effort...
By passionate sex, I do not mean a quick legover to do wifely duties. (It isn't the 1870s). I mean the nights were you first met and you talked and shagged all night and you lived on air and tequila. These heady lust filled days when life was responsibility free and you could afford to not really give a damn.
It is very hard indeed.... to feel sexy with infant poo on one's jeans. Sick in your hair. Leg hair so long you could braid it. An abdomen riddled with C section smiles and boobs that point in different directions. After all sex starts with the mind doesn't it?? How does one feel vaguely hot (again - if ever) with all of the above? Drugs? Cocktails? Gym membership for Xmas? It really is the last taboo isn't it? No one talks sex any more - not even Dr Ruth. No one shares. So it leaves us all thinking that everyone else is all 9 and a half weeks, when according to some statistics, sex in marriage is more 9 and a half months...
Why don't we talk about it? Why do we all wander around thinking the above? Oh you don't. Whoops, just me then.
3 comments:
No comments eh... That makes me think my blog post is completely true. No one is talking sex these days... Shame.
Please don't think that nobody commenting means nobody agreeing with you, I COULD'VE WRITTEN THIS POST! I have a 12 month old and think all the time about all the sex everybody else is having and all the sex I should be having...but I'm so tired all the time I just can't be bothered. How awful is that!! You are a natural, gifted writer and your honesty and insight strikes a chord with me (and countless other crummy mummies I can bet). I check your blog every day, and always mean to leave a comment but don't know how/too lazy/haven't got time/can't think of anything witty to say (delete as appropriate). I also looked up your you tube channel today (crummy mummy who shrinks - do it girls!) brilliant advice and I think I love you ha. Please keep blogging...and I promise to comment more often ��
Martha xxxxxxx
Martha, can I just thank you so much for taking the time to comment. When. Seeing a little blog post without a comment, it feels like it has no mates... Not that I am expecting folk to comment all the time, but I write this blog to have a dialogue with people, and it can feel like me bleating into the wilderness when no one replies...
So thank you! Your compliments made my day! I find motherhood can b quite a lonely experience at times, and so I blog to say, hello?? Anyone else feeling like me? Great!!! I am genuinely interested in others, so knowing how people are coping with the same issues really helps too. Keep reading!
CM xx
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