Oh hey, I’m Katt. So it’s been almost a year since my husband and I found out we were expecting, and I can maybe count on one-and-a-half hands how many times my husband and I have gotten frisky since then. eeeeeyeah…probably the first dry spell since we lived in separate states. Good thing FaceTime was a new thing then (insert blushing emoji here…). Even my dogs have gotten more action…. with each other…. and they’re twins. Cue the furry frat girl-on-girl action party in my living room. I can’t unsee it.
My husband and I have been married six and a half years, together for twelve. We’ve been through pretty much every intimate stage- the “can’t keep our hands off each other,” to the “if I hear one more person tell me how great pregnant sex is I’ll bite their head off…” and all the gushy deliciousness stuff in between.
Sex on command is my least favorite. There is so much pressure, but when you’re trying to have a baby that’s what you have to do. Especially if you’re having help like IUIs – but that’s a whole other convo. We finally got preggo on our own when we stopped trying, and after 5 years of struggling, we were so thankful.
The first trimester wasn’t that bad, ya know, getting it on. I still felt somewhat normal. I didn’t really have morning sickness. It was the second trimester when I started feeling like “meh, smeh, uh, don’t touch me.” I wanted to, but I didn’t. Like, no thank you. I felt so bad for my husband who I think is the cutest guy ever and who I love more than anything. I’d “take care” of him and he’d want to return the favor, but again, no thank you.
The couple times we went all the way during my pregnancy it hurt like hell, and it just wasn’t fun. I would cry after. Precious him would hold me and tell me it would be ok. In those moments, I didn’t think it would ever be the same. I felt hopeless and useless. I was growing a human- so I guess not that useless.
Then there was worry. Worry that he’d seek pleasure by looking at other women who weren’t huge, more attractive, and that he’d think about them later. Oh, those thoughts were and still are flat out depressing. You really feel like you’re not good enough. It’s real to feel inferior to pornography. It causes lots of pleasure, but also so much pain.
By the the third trimester, oh hell no, we gave up. I didn’t even recognize myself at that point. All I knew is I did not want to be touched.
Finally, in May ‘18 I delivered a beautiful baby girl via c-section. I knew that due to the healing process, I couldn’t have “relations” for a time after. I remember I was literally more sad about not being able to take a bath for 6 more weeks. My OB grabbed and hugged me after I said looking at my husband, “Wait, no baths!? I mean, I care about the other stuff, but what do you mean no baths!?!?” I was way (and I mean WAY) more sad about that. I couldn’t care less if I’d ever have s.e.x again.
So, we slowly (and I nervously) counted down the weeks. During this time, I’d still “take care” of him, sure. But overall, I was over it and didn’t care about it. Then all of a sudden, six weeks had come and gone. And while I was back to indulging in my baths, my husband was back to trying to get frisky. But I’d have him stop. I would cry because crying was the new normal. I’d cry thinking I was disappointing my husband. I’d cry because I thought it may never be the same. And I’d cry because of the pressure I was putting on myself to care.
It was about 8 or 9 weeks postpartum when we finally went for it. After a tid-bit of foreplay, as soon as he was putting the hot dog in the bun… I screamed in pain and basically tossed him off of me. I cried. I was done.
I’m now 16 weeks PP. We’ve had a few decent runs at it but most of the time, I just wanted it to be over. That’s horrible!
I want those days back where we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. I want to want to do “it.” I don’t want it to feel like it’s just my duty. I don’t want him to look elsewhere to pleasure himself because of my low libido. I want to fully care again.
I know I am not the one who feels this way. But what do we do? Continue to grin and bare it? Is there something for me, for us? Like “Um, hello…where’s my little blue pill!?”