Close, but no cigar.

After speaking to lots of my friends that have children, I noticed that after having my baby I was much more eager to “get back on the horse” (lovely boyfriend) than many of the other mummies had been after having their babies.

Although having a baby leaves you feeling like you have intercepted a running kick from a rugby player with your vagina, that feeling passes after a few days.  I was lucky after having my mini person and suffered only superficial damage (it did not feel superficial in the slightest, my heart goes out to you other women who had serious damage, I can’t imagine what your precious lady gardens must have felt like) with only seven external stitches (which I found more traumatic to have done than the actual delivery) and a few internal ones (they didn’t give me a number for those).

I was up, making cups of tea and walking up and down the stairs in the hospital (midwife gave me a strict talking to and insisted that I use the lift) within three hours of delivering my baby.  I was having sex dreams after three days after my offspring sprang from me (the first time that I slept after having him)

You are not supposed to have coitus too soon though, it can have the nasty side effect of making you die a bit. (This is due to the cervix not having returned to its normal state and allowing air to get into the open wound left by the placenta, you could potentially have an embolism)  There is a story of a loving husband going to dine from the furry cup and accidentally killing his wife by heavy breathing too much down there.

I read all of this and told lovely boyfriend who then refused to touch me until after my six week check up when I was signed off by the doctor (who for the record did not even look at that area of my body, so how can they know it’s fine?)

We resumed our carnal knowledge of each other later that day.  I was prepared for the nervous worries that I knew would result from this.  What if I was now like a wizard’s sleeve?  Would my wobbly tummy be a turn off?  Would I drench lovely boyfriend in breast milk?  Thankfully the answer to all of those questions was no.  The human body is wonderful, and with the help of obsessive pelvic floor exercises, my internal love passage seems to have returned to it’s former state.  Having great big breastfeeding boobs means that I don’t think lovely boyfriend actually knows that I have a stomach, and if any milk did come out of them neither of us noticed.

Nobody warned me that the older my tiny tot becomes, he seems to have be honing an internal detection system for when Mummy and Daddy are trying to have some “grown up” time.  When he was teeny, he would sleep through any noise around him.  Now he KNOWS.  He waits until I am approaching the vinegar strokes (is there even a female term for this? Sorry men, I am borrowing it for lack of a better phrase.) and then lets out furious wails of despair.

I have explained to him that he need not worry that we are going to try and usurp him form the best baby ever seat with a sibling, that is the furthest thought from my mind.

Now lovely boyfriend is fine, he is not distracted from his goal by his wailing, red faced progeny.  He can always finish.  I am not so lucky.

How long do children have this sensor within them?  Is it forever? Will I have an orgasm in the next eighteen years?  I can tell you all right now that if not, I will become a horrible grumpy bitch.

Is this why my parents were forever going away to check on missionary work that they had done abroad?  Really they were just getting down to the missionary position in peace?  My parents had a lock on the inside of their bedroom door, they would lock themselves in at night.  I always thought that they were hoping that any nocturnal intruders would take us along with the TV and leave them alone.

None of us ever wandered along the landing after a nightmare hoping for cuddles in the big safe bed, we knew that we weren’t allowed in. (in fact you would lie in bed crying, sometimes for what felt like a VERY long time.  Eventually a parent would arrive, tuck you back in, put a hand on your forehead, and pray “Dear Lord Jesus, please make Aimee’s nightmare go away. Amen.” and then go back to bed, It was NOT comforting)

Like many other things that I think I will understand as the small one continues to grow, I think I understand more my parents motivation for things that they did.  I am planning on using a different parenting style to my parents, less not sparing the rod, more rational explanations and cuddles.

I can’t imagine if my mini man is crying from a nightmare and wants kisses and cuddles, not offering them to him ( I can still remember what it feels like to not get them when you needed them more than anything.  I am hoping that not filling his head full of stories about hell, demons, satan etc… should reduce some of the terror in his formative years though)

But I can also see the appeal in the bedroom door lock, to avoid the “OH!  Hello son, no don’t worry, we were having a “special cuddle”  Mummy is fine!”

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