Let’s talk about sex after kids - Kirsten Roberts

Let’s talk about sex after kids

It’s either happening or it’s not right.


You’re either on the train where your husbands dangly bits are like bait in a shark tank (yes that’s super attractive)


Or you are on the train that is going in the opposite direction.
You know the one. Where the dangly bits have turned into a carcass hanging from a hook in a dirty side street in Cairo (not so attractive).


Now I imagine all of us have pretty strong desires to be in the first category. A sneaky round up with your partner whilst the kids are parked in front of the TV... the distant sounds of Sponge Bob Square Pants playing in your ears.


The cheeky look you give each other when you think you can sneak off for 20 minutes whilst the kids are entertained just gets the loins lubricated even thinking about it.


The fact is that the sex right now is better than it was when you were younger. There's a maturity and a knowing that makes it so much easier.

There's a languidness in how your body moves. A calmness. A happiness.

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You don't give a shit how your belly hangs when you are riding on top. Nor do you get thrown off your game by the thought that flashes across your mind as you see the top of your partner's head go down "shit I hope my bits aren’t smelly“.


There's a languidness in how your body moves. A calmness. A happiness.


Yet when you have gotten off the sex train and are on the other train. Lets call it the “holy fricken hell I can’t think of anything worse than having sex right now” train (no…clearly I have no idea what I am talking about here 😉 ), looking past your belly bits and being worried about possible remnants of toilet paper tucked inappropriately amongst your crevices, are the least of your worries.


Let's go through the list shall we.
The thought of a head job is dry retch town
Foreplay feels like “OMG you are taking fucking forever hurry up will you”
And kissing for no reason than to just kiss…who the hell has time for that, I have school lunches to make.


Your flaps close up
Your lube dries up
And your bikini line grows over so much it's like a tumbleweeds rolling through a ghost town


Lets face it. Sex feels hard. It hurts. And you think that part of your relationship is over now.
The sign hangs over the door that says closed for business…..except for the second Saturday night of the month.


So here’s the skinny girls. The secret of turning water into wine. Or gagging to groaning. Or pain into pleasure (or is pain actually pleasure???? anyways) Is to love yourself just that little bit more.


I’ve got a bit of experience in this. My husband and I have had a drought that has seen sex come over the horizon about as often as Halleys Comet (that is every 76 years for you non-nerdy peeps).


But recently the tide has turned and my luscious lady pops are excited by adventures into the wild wild west again. What changed?
Simple.
Me.


I did the work on me, to let go of the shame from a childhood sexual assault. And also the shame I felt from spending a couple of university years riding too many cowboys at too many rodeos (you get that I don’t mean real rodeos right).


Its the work we do on us that dictates the vibrancy of our bits. The excitedness of our bits. The juiciness of our bits!!


So if you would classify your sex life as exciting as pairing up a washing load of kids socks, don’t despair. There is so much hope for a ray of sunlight to break free from the sky and shine directly on your minny to light her up again.


And if you are that women that is screaming yee-hah more than twice a week then I bow to you fair lady. Your regularity used to astonish me, now it inspires me.


I’m working on raising my frequency and right now my batting average is heading in the right direction (but to be honest, I had a pretty low base to grow from). My vag and I are very happy about the trajectory and looking forward to letting Sponge Bob Square Pants drown out my hoarse whispered yee-hah again soon.