Sex (Mum… Please don’t read this)

I met my husband at a house party in Coogee in March 2008. I took a shine to him immediately. He had a sparkle in his eye that I couldn’t resist, so when I discovered he was single I did my best to flutter my eyelashes and flash my best smile in his direction. Unfortunately he left before I had time to impress him with my charm, wit and charisma. And modesty. Always forget about the modesty.

The next day he was in my head. Every time my mind wandered, there he was. His cheeky smile, his deep brown eyes… his shiny head (I’d never fancied a baldy before). And so, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I figured I had nothing to lose… so I asked him out. I sent him a carefully crafted message and hoped he would remember me. How could he not?

The following weekend we went on our first date. We met at the Sydney Opera Bar, which is a pretty spectacular place to get amorous. Especially when you’re full of bubbles (of the alcoholic variety) and you’re with a very handsome man, and you’re pretty sure he likes you too… 

Tipsy at the Opera Bar

We had a cheeky little snog. He groped my boob. He said that he was going for my shoulder… I laughed. It was so… romantic. We spent the rest of the afternoon sipping sparkling wine, holding hands, gazing into each other’s eyes… and giggling… because he’d groped my boob…

An undisclosed number of weeks later, I arrived at my husband’s apartment for dinner. That’s what he thought anyway. I had other plans. If he had known what was on my mind he probably wouldn’t have spent so long preparing such an impressive meal.

Seriously, Mum… if you’re still reading… STEP AWAY FROM THE IPAD…

I made my move. He responded, with enthusiasm. We moved somewhere “more comfortable”. We got to know each other better. It got pretty steamy. It was good. And we never did eat that meal.

In the early months of our relationship we spent a considerable amount of time in the bedroom (and occasionally, the kitchen floor). We were frequently late for social appointments. We were inseparable. We were insatiable. We were… at it…like bunnies.

Those were the days. Before we had children. When sex was spontaneous. When we (pretty much) always felt like it. When it was effortless. The sad, sad truth is that our sex life has become a little...what’s the word?... Dull? Sparse? Pathetic?

It’s just that… we’re so bloody tired. We pushing three years of pretty serious sleep deprivation, and despite our best efforts to get it on, all we really want to do is nod off. Sleep is our highest priority and as a result our once highly active sex life has slowed down, put its feet up, draped a blanket rounds its weary shoulders and got stuck into a mug of cocoa.

I know (hope) this is just a phase. One day in the not to distant future (please, god) we will rekindle the passion of those early months. But in the meantime, we’re having an early night… we’ll get cosy under the covers, we’ll share a little kiss… and before we know it… we’ll be… fast… asleep.