A few months ago my sex drive went missing. So missing that I even forget to kiss Rob goodbye when he leaves for work. Being touched at all makes my skin prickle. Sharing a bed is a turn-off because someone else's body means less room to build Plushhenge around my own.
When I was pregnant with Westley, Rob slept in our bed alone, and I slept on an air mattress on the floor. I could spread out and stack as many pillows as I wanted. But I don't remember feeling so completely detached.
During my first pregnancy, I didn't necessarily want to have sex constantly (the way some women claim to), but I had the most erotic dreams of my life. In fact, one of my first "symptoms" with each of my pregnancies was an unbelievably hot, genderqueer nocturnal head trip. I was looking forward to the months of rest-plus-fantasy-sex while gestating. Sadly, even the unconscious trysts have stopped.
Maybe if the person who's always inside me weren't so determined to make her presence known.
"She can't see anything," my procreator in crime reminds me when I push his hands away.
"Yes, but she's moving."
"Oh. I guess that would be...distracting."
And that's just the beginning of the distraction. Of course I knew I would gain weight. I knew my belly would get big and cumbersome, and lying down would become a challenge. But I still can't escape how unsexy I feel in this body, at this weight.
I'm aware that sexy is not a number (and "fat is not a feeling"), but my erogenous zones don't seem to care. Passing the 160-pound point put me into a sexual hibernation. Things only got worse with the 10 or so pounds that have followed. Anything that might be considered sexual does little more than annoy me now. You're only as sexy as you feel, and I feel repellent. It's hard to want someone loving on bits of me that I haven't been able to shave effectively in who-knows-how-long. (Even when that someone has been consistent in his pro-my-appearance stance.)
Yes, it's ridiculous—possibly even more ridiculous than my feelings about weight—and probably antifeminist, but not shaving makes me feel not in the mood. It's really difficult to shave where you can't see, or reach, or both—and before you suggest something involving a friend with a razor and a headlamp, don't.
Oh, and my ass feels like it's inside out. So there's that too.
I take comfort in the knowledge that my self will eventually be myself again. I will not have a body-passenger dancing to the beat of the bow-chicka-wow-wow. The reliable positions and maneuvers will become feasible again, and I'll actually want to get into them. I might even want to get into them sooner than I should! Having a baby the first time was like a coming out party for my sexuality. Sex was not only more important to me than it had been pre-pregnancy, it was better.
I'm keeping mylegs fingers crossed for another postpartum upgrade.
When I was pregnant with Westley, Rob slept in our bed alone, and I slept on an air mattress on the floor. I could spread out and stack as many pillows as I wanted. But I don't remember feeling so completely detached.
During my first pregnancy, I didn't necessarily want to have sex constantly (the way some women claim to), but I had the most erotic dreams of my life. In fact, one of my first "symptoms" with each of my pregnancies was an unbelievably hot, genderqueer nocturnal head trip. I was looking forward to the months of rest-plus-fantasy-sex while gestating. Sadly, even the unconscious trysts have stopped.
Maybe if the person who's always inside me weren't so determined to make her presence known.
"She can't see anything," my procreator in crime reminds me when I push his hands away.
"Yes, but she's moving."
"Oh. I guess that would be...distracting."
And that's just the beginning of the distraction. Of course I knew I would gain weight. I knew my belly would get big and cumbersome, and lying down would become a challenge. But I still can't escape how unsexy I feel in this body, at this weight.
I'm aware that sexy is not a number (and "fat is not a feeling"), but my erogenous zones don't seem to care. Passing the 160-pound point put me into a sexual hibernation. Things only got worse with the 10 or so pounds that have followed. Anything that might be considered sexual does little more than annoy me now. You're only as sexy as you feel, and I feel repellent. It's hard to want someone loving on bits of me that I haven't been able to shave effectively in who-knows-how-long. (Even when that someone has been consistent in his pro-my-appearance stance.)
Yes, it's ridiculous—possibly even more ridiculous than my feelings about weight—and probably antifeminist, but not shaving makes me feel not in the mood. It's really difficult to shave where you can't see, or reach, or both—and before you suggest something involving a friend with a razor and a headlamp, don't.
Oh, and my ass feels like it's inside out. So there's that too.
I take comfort in the knowledge that my self will eventually be myself again. I will not have a body-passenger dancing to the beat of the bow-chicka-wow-wow. The reliable positions and maneuvers will become feasible again, and I'll actually want to get into them. I might even want to get into them sooner than I should! Having a baby the first time was like a coming out party for my sexuality. Sex was not only more important to me than it had been pre-pregnancy, it was better.
I'm keeping my
4 comments:
Noelle, your honesty is something that always keeps me coming back to your blog.
You are amazing, and even though I have never been pregnant I think I would be in the exact same position as you are right now.
I was also one who did not understand the super horndog pregnant women. I felt so big and gross and tired and vomity all the time. Just, no. No.
So...I have two irrelevant points.
Numero uno: I saw a movie tonight with a protagonist named Noelle. Thought of you.
Numero dos: I would dearly love to send you a baby present that may or may not be in the form of tiny cowboy boots (cowgirl? non-gender specific boots of the cow herding variety?). ZOMG THE CUTEST. I'm just saying.
I feel the same way...STILL. True I've never been big into it to start. Something must be wrong with me, no? Anyway...I feel gross and then there's this baby on my boob all day. Maybe next year?
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