Dressing my toddlers is a daily struggle. They gripe, squirm, and kick; I pray, curse (mostly in my head), and show off some moves that would probably get me pretty far in a WWE tournament. It’s exhausting.
In fact, after fighting my kids tooth and nail—sometimes literally—in order to get them fully clothed, I find myself in need of a major stress reliever. A nice tumble in the sack definitely fits the bill. But you know what else can be a struggle when your kids hit their toddler years?
Don’t get me wrong, my hubby is great, and I do occasionally get to experience the kind of toe-curling, hair-pulling, headboard-thumping moments of bliss you read about in trashy, Fabio-adorned romance novels (note to self: find out what brand of conditioner he uses). But sadly, those blissful moments are about as frequent as my postpartum bowel movements these days.
When I’ve been struggling to clothe and control my kids all day, it gets hard (pun intended) to focus on sex. I’m spent by the time my greasy hair hits the pillow at the end of the day, and the only “Big O” I can think about is the one that Sesame Street proclaimed as that morning’s Letter of the Day.
On top of my exhaustion, throw in my husband’s exhaustion from working all day, as well as the sticky peanut-butter-and-jelly hair mask I’m likely sporting from lunch, and the ill-timed toddler feet trekking their way to our bedroom door moments after we close it. It’s no wonder that sex has become a far cry from the spontaneous, steamy romps of yore.
After kids, sex just kind of loses some of its . . . well . . . sexiness.
Now, you may be wondering: what on Earth does my sex life have to do with getting my kids dressed? Well, it dawned on me the other day—as I was attempting to shove a pair of shorts over the writhing hips of my eldest child—that I say a lot of the same things while trying to get clothes on my kids that I do while trying to get it on with my husband. Here are a few of the charming phrases I’ve used in both instances, either in my head or aloud:
I just wanna get it on.
Oops, wrong hole, honey.
Here, let me help you find the hole.
FOR GOD’S SAKE, JUST STICK IT THROUGH THE HOLE ALREADY!
I don’t have time for this.
This doesn’t fit like it used to.
This would be a lot less difficult if you weren’t so sweaty.
Why is this so fucking exhausting?
Please stop slobbering everywhere.
Someone’s toenails could use a trim.
If I were rich, I could pay someone to do this for me.
I have a shitload of laundry to do.
Why is there always so much laundry to do?
I should probably be doing laundry right now.
Maybe we should just stay naked. It’d give me less laundry to do.
This is way too much work.
Stop making those whiny noises.
I can’t get (it) off.
Who the hell thought all these buttons were a good idea?
*grunt, groan, heavy breathing*
This is taking a lot longer than it should.
I give up.
I need a fucking brownie.
Did you just bite me?
It’s sweet that you’re trying, but it might be easier if you just let me do it.
Seriously, it’s a good thing my kids aren’t old enough to appreciate the phrase, “That’s what she said.” If so, they’d have enough dirty joke ammo to last them a lifetime. Or at least until they’re capable of dressing themselves.
And hopefully, by that point, my sex life will have a different soundtrack.