SEXIS WRONG

literally don’t feel my body anymore. Before I gave birth, every
bump and bruise would send me to the chiropractor. Now
I was sure my back was screwed up from hunching while
nursing and carrying car seats and strollers, but I didn’t even
notice. My body was no longer mine.
I knew that no one has sex for months after having a baby
(except teenagers, my doctor told me). I knew most of my
mommy friends weren’t having sex. Felix demanded my attention
day and night. So why was I still obsessing over it? I
had used sex to fill every possible hole in my life up until the
day I gave birth (actually, even on the day I gave birth—I gave
Ken a blowjob right before we left to go to the hospital). Now
I didn’t have any room left; I was full of Felix. The constant
motion of early motherhood actually decreased my neuroses.
I didn’t have the time to worry myself sick by cataloguing my
humiliations. I was doing something important: keeping this
tiny human alive with milk from my breasts. My body was doing
what it was meant to do. I didn’t need an orgasm to slam
me out of myself.
Still, I missed my husband. One night in bed, I said, “I think
you need a nonsexual tour of the region, so that when we do
have sex again, you know what you’re getting into. Literally.” I
spread my legs and directed the reading light between them.
I opened my sex with my fingers and showed Ken the ridge of
scar tissue that stretched diagonally from the
right side of my vagina to the left side of my
anus. I took his hand so he could feel the area
just inside the right wall of my vagina. “This
still hurts. That great move you have will have to wait.”
He was tentative. “I saw a baby come out of there, “ he said.
“It’s not for fun anymore.”
softer. I was glad that I wasn’t the only one who was out of
shape. I had forgotten that just the feeling of his cock in my
hand could turn me on.
He put his hand on me, opened me, found the wetness inside,
rubbed my clitoris until I told him to fuck me. He put on a
condom and entered me gently, missionary position. I would
have preferred the heat of his penis, but there was no way I
was going to have sex without birth control. I kept asking him
to look at me. I wanted not to be invisible.
It was a little uncomfortable, but not the body-wracking pain
that I expected. I relaxed into the pleasure of being fucked.
After awhile he came, looking in my eyes, then lay next to me
and used his hand to get me off.
Afterward, I asked the million-dollar question. “Does it feel
different inside?”
“Not really...maybe a little.... To tell you the truth, it’s been
so long....”
We laughed. I realized I missed the afterwards as much as
the sex: the hormone high, the smell.
After that night, we had sex every week or two for a few
months. Then it dwindled away again. Felix grew. He needed
more; I had less. Our romantic little family was actually
“I saw a baby come out of there,“
he said. “It’s not for fun anymore.”
a small corporation. We were really tired. Familiarity breeds
contempt. Resentment builds upon resentment. We lost our
humor.
It was understandable that I didn’t want to have sex, but
wasn’t he supposed to? My mommy friends were starting
to complain about their husbands’ libidos. Gisele told me she
kept Ernesto happy by giving him a blowjob every three days.
I knew that Ken was as busy as I was, as tired and cranky, and
in shock at being a father and responsible for our little family.
But I hated feeling so undesirable. I hated that even talking
about sex was suddenly uncomfortable.
Seven months after Felix was born, the three of us came home
from an afternoon walk. With Felix still asleep in his stroller,
I said, “How about we take a chance he’ll stay asleep?” We
were both tentative. Ken undressed and got into bed while I
went to the bathroom. I didn’t want him to see my body, so I
took off my jeans and socks, then got into bed and slipped off
my underwear, T-shirt, and bra. We didn’t look at each other,
just hugged hard and tight for a long time, then loosened up
and kissed. I took his ass in my hands and noticed it was
I love my son more than I love my husband. I didn’t come to
this realization; it was just there one day, and it always had
been there, from the day Felix was born. I know Felix’s body
better than I know my own. Right now, his ear is exactly as
long as my middle finger from knuckle to tip. He has a patch
of dry skin on his left shin. His fingers still splay like starfish,
hot against my skin. I lean in too close; I want to get a whiff
of his breath. When I read him a book, I surreptitiously press
my lips to his hair over and over, very lightly so he won’t notice
and bat my hand away. He knows I’m too into him. When
I feed him, he pushes my face away. He wants the breast
and the milk, not the mother. I’m terrified he’ll grow up to be
one of those boys in high school who only look at women’s
breasts, not their faces. I worry that I will be jealous of his
girlfriends. I never thought I’d be the type to try to create a
mama’s boy, but I have a weak character.
Sometimes I’m afraid I go too far. I linger a little too long
BABY LOVE 45