How Do the World’s Best(Worst) Parents Get Laid?
This post is an exercise in over-sharing. It is wildly inappropriate, terribly embarrassing, and wholly indicative of just how much of a challenge sex can be when you have small children.
With that being said, this post is also meant to make you feel better. That’s right, you should feel better about yourself when you read this. Because you’re either gonna say, “Oh GOOD, we’re not the only ones!” or (more likely) “Oh thank GOD we are such better parents than THESE AWFUL PEOPLE.”
So you’re welcome. For making you feel better about yourself.
Here we go.
Since welcoming our third child into the world, finding the time and space for sex has been rather difficult for Tim and me.
In fact, let me revise that statement. Since our third child decided to forego both naps outside of our arms and stretches of sleep longer than three hours at night, finding the time and space for sex has been rather difficult to do. And by “rather difficult,” I mean a few slivers away from “DAMN NEAR IMPOSSIBLE.”
It wasn’t so challenging back when we had just two kids. (Need I remind you of the time we sneaked away for voracious vampire porn star sex when I was pregnant with Eric?) It wasn’t even all that challenging back when Eric wasn’t such a high-needs baby. I mean, we could at least make time for a little quickie in the shower a time or two each week while the older kids were playing and the baby was rolling around or (oh sweet, distant memories) sleeping in his crib.
(And allow me to state for the record: since having kids, the shower has become our most boring spot for sex. PLEASE! JUST GIVE ME SOME STRAIGHT-UP BED SEX! It has become so rare that it would be downright ADVENTUROUS for us at this point! Oh, hi Mom! Are you still reading?)
But that has all changed now. There is not one moment during the day when one of us is not
- holding Eric
- sleeping while Eric is touching us
- doing something else while Eric is screaming because he wants us to be holding him
- doing something else with at least half an eye on Eric because when he is happily not in our arms, he is either eating or on the move, trying to climb or eat or get into things that he isn’t supposed to climb, eat, or get into
And about that shower sex? If we do try to take a shower together, Eric is screaming bloody murder in his pack n play at least 75% of the time. I don’t know about you, but nothing kills the mood like a screaming baby. I mean, I can barely concentrate on making sure that I don’t rub shampoo in my eyes when my baby is screaming in the background!
(Let me just tiptoe around another issue by stating that my time for “self care” is pretty much ZILCH. ISN’T THIS POST MAKING YOU WANT TO HAVE LOTS OF BABIES?!?!?!)
In any case, one day last week I hit a breaking point. I’m a person who enjoys sex, and I enjoy having sex with my husband, and the lack of sex in my life was making me very, very sad. (<—-This is what we call an understatement.)
So Tim and I came up with a plan. A devilish plan. A desperate plan. A devilishly desperate and wonderful plan.
We put Eric in his pack n play. We ensured that he had age-appropriate toys with which he could play. We scoured the bottom of the pack n play to make sure that there weren’t any small bits of anything that he could put in his mouth. We turned on “A Charlie Brown Christmas.” And we told the older boys (ages 7 and 4) that we would pay them 50 cents each if they could keep Eric happy for a few minutes while we went across the hallway and “cleaned” the guest bedroom.
And they consented to take part in this devilishly desperate and wonderful (and possibly awful and terrible) plan.
That’s right. We paid to get laid. We gave our children a few quarters so that we could sneak away for ten minutes and have sex.
And they had no idea what their ten minutes of watching Charlie Brown and making faces at their baby brother was all about.
THE HORROR! THE AUDACITY! THE TERRIBLE PARENTING!
Of course, the full ten minutes weren’t entirely uninterrupted. There was some sort of television emergency where Linus was frozen on the screen, and Tim needed to leave the guest room to restart the show on our DVR, and I’m nearly certain that the interruption was God’s way of doing a little finger-wagging at our morally questionable decisions.
But you know what? Terrible and morally suspect parenting aside, I must say this:
THAT DOLLAR WAS FOUR QUARTERS WELL SPENT, YOU GUYS.