My husband and I have been together for 15 years, and parents for two.
We've had sex at all times of the day and night. Every day of the week. Indoors and outdoors. We've played out all our fantasies and indulged our every fetish.
But now, it feels like it's the end of the road.
I'd heard about parenthood being the death of sex, but I never subscribed to that notion. Surely that only happened to the non-adventurous missionary-position-doers. Ha!
Well, two years into this parenting thing and I would much rather sleep with my toddler than my husband.
1. “Sleeping together” means just that.
Sleeping is defined as “the act of closing one's eyes and entering a state of reduced consciousness.”
It doesn't mean foreplay. It doesn't mean groping. It doesn't mean trying to poke me from behind or sideways or wherever.
It means sleeping.
My husband's snuggles and cuddles lead to at least an extra half-hour of wakefulness, but my toddler's prove wonderful sleep aids.
Sleep trumps sex every time.
2. My toddler doesn't wake me up from deep sleep to tell me I'm snoring.
My husband, on the other hand, has kicked me, shaken me, yelled himself hoarse in my ear to make sure I am wide awake to hear “Stop snoring!” before rolling off to his side and starting to snore himself!
Snore-stoppers, nose strips, sleep-apnea-self-help courses… Nothing has worked.
My toddler thinks it's a beautiful rhythmic beat. I happen to concur. Especially since I can't hear it.
3. My toddler and I can sprawl.
Wherever we want on the king-size bed without any risk of broken bones. Even in her sleep, she knows Mommy Bear won't roll over on top of her. Even in my sleep, I know where her body parts are. We are secure in the knowledge that she is safe.
With my husband, all bets are off.
He has slept through her gassy wails and shrieks and night terrors. When he kicks in his sleep, it can lead to serious injury (used to be kinky — not anymore).
He can't be trusted to be in the same bed as us. Period.
4. My toddler doesn't care for the blanket.
My husband, on the other hand, is a hoarder. He will pull and pull and pull some more so that he can tuck the blankets under his toes, sides, and chin. He will not let go. The man has a grip of steel even in his sleep.
It's beyond me why he insists on only wearing undies to bed if he's really that cold. He refuses to try using two blankets because “what's the fun in that?”
Well, even if my sexy lingerie has taken a sabbatical, I don't like wearing pullovers and socks to bed either. Toddler wins again.
5. Farts. Enough said.
My toddler's farts don't smell like freshly-cut jasmines, but they sure as hell don't stink up the entire house. Why would I, now that I have the option, not avoid my husband's liberal, almost-tangible, decidedly foul farts?
Diaper-changing and potty-training are bad enough during the day — I don't need poop reminders in the middle of the night!
Breastfeeding on demand night and day has its challenges. Lugging a 27-pounder on my stomach every night has surely screwed up my back.
Consoling a screaming toddler through nightmares doesn't make for undisturbed sleep, but it sure allows for more sleep than I'd get with my cold-footed, sex-starved, fidgety husband.
P.S. If you didn't get it, this is a tongue-in-cheek piece and we ARE NOT headed for divorce.
This article originally appeared on Ravishly.
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