No, says a mom of a two-year-old, trying isn’t always the fun part.
There are a couple of questions people will probably ask you during your life.
As you start to grow up it is: ‘Do you have a ‘special’ friend?’ Then, as things get more serious, it’s: ‘When are you getting married?’ Barely leaving the altar the next question hits: ‘When are you having kids?’
You would think popping out a bundle of joy would satisfy the masses, but no, somewhere near the first birthday of your first born the next question rolls in: ‘When are you having a little sibling for your little one?’
Well, my first born is two and a half, and we have been working towards ‘a little sibling for our little one’ for a while. But, somehow, when faced with the sibling-query, I still manage to say (with an approximation of a smile), ‘we are trying.’
And then they say it. The ‘it’ that any couple that have been trying to conceive for more than a day knows to be complete nonsense.
‘Well, trying is the fun part.’
It’s not that I blame these poor souls. There was a time that I believed that seemingly innocent sentence myself. I may have even uttered it a few times. That was before; before I was knee-deep in the process of making babies.
The truth is: having sex with the purpose of creating human life can be the furthest thing from fun.
TTC (trying to conceive) works in a roughly two week schedule. There is the-getting-of-your-period that marks the start of another attempt. Two weeks later it’s the sex part, careful ovulation-calculation or just going at it like rabbits. Just under two weeks later you are in the pharmacy, hopefully buying home test kits. Aunt Flo arrives and you start checking the calendar for the next optimal date, possibly with tear-filled eyes.
Two weeks on it’s the sex-part again. Soon candles and sexy lingerie get traded in for an old tracksuit and unshaved legs.
One night (right on schedule), I announce: it’s time. Hubbie gives me a do-we-have-to-look, and I hear myself say, ‘It doesn’t have to be good.’
So that’s what it’s come to. Obligation sex, because we chose to procreate. Then I had a revelation.
Sex is like eating.
We eat our vegetables, not necessarily because we like them, but because we know we have to. This, is baby-making-sex.
Then there is dessert. It has hardly any nutritional value, but it tastes so good. Pure indulgence. This is ‘real’ sex. Having sex to enjoy each other. No baby pressure. Making love.
I know there are a few well skilled people out there that have the ability to make veggies taste just super scrumptious. Sadly, I do not seem to have that ability, at least not in the bedroom.
You know what? There is no reason to feel bad that making babies sometimes feels like a chore. It is what it is, a means to an end.
So I’ll eat my vegetables, as long as I can have my dessert too…
Share your experience of baby-making sex.
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