If I had to guess it was a Tuesday. A chilly day. Mid 50s. It was right around dinner time, when the decision was made. But that’s not true. In fact I can’t even tell you what year it was. It was a gradual decision. A decision that took years to accept. Years laced with pregnancies, stress, crazy schedules, weight gain and extremely low self esteem. It was a decision that I hated myself for making.
Maybe it would have been easier if it was a conscious decision. Wake up one morning, pour a cup of coffee and tell your husband that you are never having sex again. But it’s not that easy, is it?
It started out slow actually. We got a little older. I got pregnant. Hormones changed. What used to be an active sex life started dwindling. Two maybe three times a week. Then slowly even less.
I remember when we were younger. Do I dare say carefree? The bills in our one bedroom apartment were minimal. We worked as bartenders. Went out for sushi at midnight. Drove up and down the coast on date nights. Jack Johnson playing in my convertible. Talking about what it was going to be like when we were older and married with kids of our own.
The sex was plentiful. [Sorry mom.] It just came easy back then. [Seriously, no pun intended.] We were young. We didn’t have plates full of responsibility. We had sex in the afternoon. In the car. On the side of the house even. And no, I won’t tell you whose house. I do keep some things sacred. Sex was a part of our routine. A really good part.
But, our plates are full now. One by one our responsibilities get piled on. Grocery lists. Tuition checks. Potty training. Parenting. His plate just as full. Different responsibilities but just as many if not more. Imagine a Thanksgiving dinner plate. The turkey, pushed to the edge of the plate after everything else gets added on. The turkey hangs on for dear life. That turkey became my sex drive. Interesting analogy I know, but I wanted you to have a visual.
Sex became a once in a while novelty. It felt planned. We would get a babysitter to go out to dinner and I would feel like we would just have to make love that night. Did he feel obligated as well? Birthdays. Holidays. Anniversaries. All felt like obligatory sex. And I hated it. I knew there was something wrong with feeling that way. It didn’t help that my self-esteem was in the dumps after having two babies. But I started to get frustrated with myself. He is my husband for God’s sake! And I am so in love with him. Why on earth did I not want to have sex?