Posts Tagged ‘sex drive’

Boo, hiss, blah… help!

Friday, October 16th, 2009

The past few days, I’m feeling moderately depressed. Is it circumstantial or is it hormonal? That is the question. Odds are, it’s a little bit of both. From my experience in relationships, when one partner is having a tough time, the other one is meant to be there for support. Trouble is, both J and I are in need of some TLC these days and thus, neither of us is fully able to give it. And so the distance sets in. I feel alone. He doesn’t talk. He is man. I am woman. Only in the most primal sense, we can’t even get that right since I’ve gotten so huge (and uncomfortable) I have no idea how we’re supposed to be able to have sex anymore.

Somewhere deep down, I think doing the deed regularly would help matters… bring us closer… (even if there is a baby foot nestled in my ribcage the whole time and the very act itself has devolved into a slapstick comedy of errors), but I can’t even come close to summoning the interest. Let’s face it, I can’t catch my breath at night and when I wake in the morning, my bones ache courtesy of relaxin. Dash has an uncanny ability for telling exactly when I’m falling off to sleep, taking it as his cue to practice for a 2024 run at gold in floor exercise and I’m back to peeing at least three times a night, only now, my bladder (too compressed to fully function) has about all the power of a prune (and is likely about that size). With that in mind, how am I supposed to tolerate (nevermind actually enjoy) what would sadly amount to further prodding–by a person twice my size? Did I mention the stabbing pains in my hinterlands? To think, I used to complain about getting a Brazilian!

Indeed (and however ironically, considering how we got here), I am NOT in my sexual prime. And I’m terrified I won’t return there for some time… two things that only serve to deepen my despair. Where has Stephanie gone? And will somebody put her back when this whole thing is over?

As if being in total discomfort and existential crisis 24/7 isn’t enough (we won’t even get into the economy, the job market, the reality that I may be forced into de-facto stay at home motherhood at a big cost to my lifestyle… and ego), I still resent J for not trying to get it on with me… despite the fact that I know he’s just being courteous! (Besides, who in their right mind would want to f*@k me right now in the first place?) I’m aware that I’m sending mixed messages… and the code is so complex, I can’t even decipher it myself!

Finally, add to this whole debacle that I have about this much energy and even less tolerance for the myriad of ridiculous things that annoy me and one thing is clear. Six weeks into my marriage, I am not the best wife. And I hate myself for it. What’s even worse is that I have no idea what to do about it… except, that is, to wait, which is inordinately difficult for someone with my proactive personality type. Patience is not my virtue, but I know I’ve got to find some way to implore it… and that way cannot involve Xanax, Ambien or any worthwhile amount of red wine. Don’t French babies drink while in utero? Argh!!!

Luckily, the one and only thing I know I can truly count on at the moment is that this too, shall pass. Just don’t remind me of that fact because I’ll be honest… your use of bad cliches (in reference to my situation… or anything else for that matter) will definitely piss me off.

Gas and Magic

Saturday, September 26th, 2009

I have a confession. I like being pregnant. I also like being married, and for a girl who never really expected (or cared much) to be either, that’s saying something. Of course the latter is a discussion for a different day on a different blog. This is a pregnancy chronicle, and for all those days that I woke up cursing the nausea,  heartburn, exhaustion (or the fact that I just don’t look the same in any kind of clothing), today I have awoken with a little spring in my step and a love of my big belly. Who cares if I waddle? Or if I’ve found my (once sophisticated, non-noise making) self making involuntary little duck sounds to signify the fact that I’m waddling as I make my way down the hall? (Quack, quack!) I’m having a baby!

Now naturally, I absolutely love the little guy residing in my expanding midsection… but loving being pregnant is another thing altogether. It’s something my mother and my oldest friend both swore to me they did the entire time they were carrying (an assurance I took as an insult to my womanhood during my first trimester, when I was virtually suicidal), but for me, the fluctuations have been much more pronounced than the adoration of the state. Take my wedding for example. While I had gotten over the fact that I was destined to look like Orca in Vera Wang (especially from the side), as the night wore on and my new husband reveled in socializing with our nearest and dearest, cocktail in his sexy hand and ever-present smile on his handsome face, I found myself increasingly exhausted… and seriously envious of those flowing drinks. With just sixty guests, we went through wine, beer, champagne, vodka and rum for 100 and someone had to go back out for wine and beer twice… yet none of the delicious elixir, save about a half a glass of rose champagne, passed my poor, deprived, expectant lips. (Never mind that I was willing to drink the whole glass, too – I just couldn’t!) Plus, while I soaked in the beauty of the warm, Malibu night, delighted that it had turned out just as I’d hoped, there was a part of me (a very physical part) that just couldn’t wait to go to bed! Trouble is, it wasn’t for the sordid wedding night debauchery a Coco de Mer-loving girl like me associates with tying the knot (um, sex drive – what’s that?). I wanted to go to sleep!

Still, at the end of that day (and every day that has been any kind of struggle), I’ve been able to assuage myself with the prize I get at the end of this nine (or really, ten) month rollercoaster: a bouncing baby boy who will be (for lack of a better term), my disciple. Naturally, as pregnant women for centuries have known, this makes the struggle worthwhile. But today, as I recover from a virus (let’s face it, being sick while pregnant sucks even more than usual), it’s nice not to feel any of the downsides of the experience. For the past three days, as I’ve rested, trying to recover without risking decongestants or sleep aids, little Dash has been more active than ever. His movements have gotten more consistent and I think I’ve been able to discern the difference between kicks/punches and actual changes in position. Last night, I swear I could feel his head near my right hip and his feet near my left ribs. (A previously unmentioned fact is that he’s measuring a full two weeks ahead in terms of size. So maybe I’m imagining that he’s already taking up my entire uterus at 26 1/2 weeks… and maybe he actually is.) And cooler still, this morning he woke me with a series of little flips (which he is replicating as I type this). It feels like some crazy combination of gas (admittedly, there’s no shortage of that these days)… and magic.

In short, today I am in love with this time in my life. Next week I have the dreaded glucose test (there’s an orange flavored beverage waiting in my fridge), a baby registry to construct (any suggestions?) and an email list for shower invites to get to my friends (which includes procuring emails from my husband, in itself a task)… All of this I’m sure will stress me out, especially when combined with writing and reorganizing the house to accommodate wedding gifts. In the meantime however, as I feel awed and excited by the moment and for the uncertainty that lies ahead, I’m going to settle into my little cocoon of contentment and be grateful for all the goodness that has come my way.

God knows, things could change any second. So I might as well enjoy it!