Last night, my husband was wanting to be...affectionate. I was not. This was something I had read about on new mother forums and the more realistic parenting books and swore this would not happen to me. I love my husband; he's intelligent and attractive, a geek, as well as an enabler to my geekness, and he can dance (East Coast Swing, Lindy and Blues). I love being the focus of his attention. I love when he wraps his arms around me and kisses my neck while I'm trying to cook. But last night? Not so much. And (I utterly hate to say this) this wasn't the first time since the baby's arrival that this has happened.
This had been my day:
After a semi-bad night with Kara, my husband wakes me up to let me know I need to take him to work (he had left his car at work the day before because we were celebrating his birthday). The rest of the day revolved around walking and bouncing Kara, becoming a human burp cloth, feeding her, soothing her, becoming a human burp cloth (again), changing my shirt and repeating the cycle. Four of my shirts resembled a Jackson Pollock painting. Then I had to cook dinner.
So, by the time 10:00 PM rolled around, all I wanted to do was crawl into bed and announced as such to my husband.
"When would be good to turn you on?"
Huh? That phrase seemed so forgein to me at that moment, I actually had to have him clarify. Then I thought back to while I was cooking, he had been his usual affectionate self. I had to ask a stupid question (even worse that having to ask him to clarify), "Were you trying to turn me on tonight?" Ackwardville, population: me. "I'm sorry, but I just want to sleep. I've been thrown up on more times that I was able to count and even the thought of bodily fluids is so unappealing."
Fortunately, my husband is wonderful and understanding and agreed that maybe we need to go the completely unromantic route and schedule turn on time.
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