He knows, He MUST!

I would just like to preface this blog entry by saying that this entry is going to talk about sex between two married adults who, consent WHEN they are able to engage in intercourse.

READ AT YOUR DISCRETION. Warning given.

I am not an individual who actually enjoys engaging in any sexual situations in a place other than the bedroom. Personally, I enjoy a clean, soft bed, lights low or off and the ability to linger when I want to be romantic with my Husband.

I have a lot of, "hang-up's" that Magazines tout about making love in full light and being on top and all that crap but, when it comes down to IT, when my eyes feel strong and hot and silky when looking at my Husband's strong, confident and sexy form, some of that goes out of the window. Not all, mind you but, some. I am still self-conscious about how I look and the fat on my body and sometimes, (much to my regret) the voices of boyfriends past creep into my brain and try to shade and shape my reactions, interrupting my joy of being loved, touched, treasured and...eeegads, pleasured.

Yep, I wrote pleasured. I tittered...you don't need my permission to titter but, go ahead because, some part of my thirteen year old self survived and thinks it's nervously hilarious to relate the word pleasure when talking about S-E-X.

In any case, I don't know what ghosts invade my Husband's psyche or, what inner demons he faces but, in the past, we have managed and, with GREAT gusto. No, we weren't rabbits or anything but, we rather enjoyed our rolls in the hay because we love each other and had no problem connecting with each other and riding that out in all the waves that the ocean of time gave us for the time we joined bodies and engaged in an act that isn't articulate with words but, with emotion and touch and selflessness and selfishness.

Now, the Mother and Father of a nineteen month old, we PINE, PINE, PINE for the days when we had all the time in the world to tease out foreplay starting with glances, words, teasing, flirty touches, daring touches, kissing, tea light candles and FINALLY, achingly sweet and rewarding, mounting to two naked bodies enjoying each other and ending with snuggling and spending an hour talking about, not how great we were or how much we liked what we did but, things that made us laugh, things that kept that bond that comes only in the afterglow.

It comes down to TIME.

I was predictably...um..."randy" during my second trimester but, this also happened to come smack dab in the middle of Mark's "busy season" at work and in the middle of buying a house and me working full time so, it would go like this:

I would come home, want to devour a buffet, stay awake long enough for Mark to come home, linger two or three hours longer and then, because I couldn't fight it anymore, fell fast asleep to the sounds of whatever was on television.

Also, I had a HARD time getting over the fact that I was growing a PERSON and every time Mark and I made love, I couldn't get comfortable so, ended up "turning over" and holding one hand to my belly while our kid sloshed around and I worried and was uncomfortable and irritated and sensitive and wanted to throw my hands in the air to surrender.

Eventually, I did surrender.

It was difficult to suppress my natural, inborn instinct to engage in sexual intercourse with my Husband as the ultimate expression of love but, I did because, I felt like we just had TOO MANY hurdles to jump over.

Days, weeks and months went by. My belly grew and, because sex, intercourse, making love, isn't everything in the world or, the way to show you love someone or, even a form of energy you want to expend when it is spent more wisely in other areas, IT went to the way side.

Labor came, birth came and, after having probably about six hours of sleep, I felt....free. No longer did I have a PERSON IN ME to worry about. I was filled with love and exhilaration and a desire to express these feelings to my Husband without saying a word but, I tore during birth and had to be stitched up and, as great as my desire was, there was a little voice that said, "Take it easy, for your sake. Be patient" and I listened because, well, I had STITCHES in a place you NEVER EVER really EVER want stitches in.

(BTW, readers, this can be avoided with a perennial massage. I should have pressed Mark to do this more but, I didn't. No one wants to rip, especially DOWN THERE but, massaging with Olive Oil in THAT AREA can help. Giving the Mama space to push at her will, reminding her to take time, reminding her that it is ok, is the best)

I was given one perri bottle and asked for another, (since we have a two story house) and used them both faithfully, taking great care to manage and care for my wound.

About four weeks into Post-Partum, I wanted to ravage my Husband. I had FOUR WEEKS worth of DEEP love and tenderness and, even being someone who has words for just about everything, couldn't find the words to express the LOVE and JOY and PASSION and GRATITUDE I had for my Husband...I was ready to SHOW him.

A week before my PP, we CELEBRATED the end of the beginning of the life we created, our new life together in a way that neither one of us could misunderstand. With our hearts, with our minds, with our skin and lips and tongues and hands and all that felt and could touch and reach, we melded and it was...it was...

Mayhap you know...

I can't say. Not because I don't want to but, because, it goes beyond words and THAT is what love-making is about.

At my PP check-up a week later, I felt as guilty as thief but, whatever. I knew my stitches were gone, I knew my body could handle it. I wasn't pressured, I WANTED and I HAD. I, ME, THE PERSON WRITING THIS, did not go beyond her means or bounds.

Nineteen months later...

Sexual drought.

Love making, soul touching drought.

Talking about how much IT sucks, how we cope, how we desire and wish, HELPS...

I read blogs and articles about bed-sharing, and how if you want to make love, you make love in other places.

I'm two months shy of thirty-one. I have never liked *ucking out of a bed and, now that I’m closing in on what I, I, I, I, I consider maturity, I find that I STILL DO NOT LIKE making love or any forms of it, out of a bed.

I like being in a place where NOTHING can take away my attention from the ultimate act of love with my Husband. I LIKE to close my eyes and shut off my sense of smell and leave myself open to touch and feel and ENJOY...

Wait...I do smell, I CHOOSE to smell...Pheromones.

It's not that I think he 's ugly or, that I think I am Ugly, I do think of those things but, I zone in and focus on touch, taste, smell...all the things that make love, LOVE.

So, my Husband and I...tried a different place in our house, Colin asleep, I peeled off clothes, flirted with my voice and eyes and we engaged, we melded with scent, taste and desire and....

"WAAAAAHHHH!" Over the baby monitor.

A frenzied attempt to finish.

A failed adventure.

We concluded the same thing:

COLIN KNOWS

HE MUST

We were DOWNSTAIRS, in a place far from his crib, in a room with a sound machine and...

HE KNEW.

With guff and bluff...oh my oh my oh pie

Lady Justice has handed over her scales, keeping her blindfold on but...

Her scales work differently and not fairly and say-thee true...

In your joy of self and each other, a life came forth. Perhaps you didn't mean it underneath but, on the surface you said, YES, YES, YES.

Mayhap the scale weighs heavy on the side of the child, mayhap it does not, either way, it is up to YOU to find the balance, and it is not mine.

I light torches around my hut against the village.

I MADE my baby with MY Husband. WE made OUR baby.

Mark and I? We test the waters, wading in, hoping we can swim, and swimming back when the waves and tide are too much.

Because, for now, HE Knows. HE Must.

He heard us and, our joy was cut short.

As Ka wills...