Despite my best efforts (detailed here), we’ve fallen off the sex wagon again.
In case you wonder what that means, it means getting around to it once a month. It’s not like I expect to be having lots of sex, but I’d like to shoot for three times a month.
And again, it’s not that I care so much for myself, it’s that it affects our relationship. We are getting short with each other lately. I’m constantly muttering WHAT THE FUCK? IS IT SO HARD TO PUT THINGS BACK WHERE THEY GO? and I GUESS I HAVE TO BE THE ONE TO PICK THOSE UP? and WHY ARE YOU DOING IT THAT WAY?!?!
I’m not sure why I mutter in all caps. In addition, Bun Bun is going through some kind of thing that makes her have constant episodes of I AM SUCH AN ASSHOLE RIGHT NOW, and I am bothered both by the way I parent her through these episodes and naturally more so by the way my husband parents her. Which means we need to have a Conversation about Parenting so we can get on the same page…
So today as I scuttled out of the house as quickly as I could to avoid the screaming chaos (his day to do breakfast and wait for the nanny), I thought: Clearly we need to have sex today, because I want to talk about parenting and we can’t do that if we haven’t had sex in weeks.
This is not like the TV show I’ve been watching where all the characters have constant sex with great enthusiasm. Is it possible life is not like TV?
I guess I feel one part calculating and manipulative, and one part wearily pragmatic. And zero parts sexually aroused.