It’s Sunday morning, at some ungodly hour. I am awake, only because I am programmed to be awake this early in the day. Even though I want to sleep in, some urging – such as the prodding of your 4-year-old feet in my ribs, pushes me out of bed. So I get up. I make coffee. And I try to be as quiet as possible in the hopes that I can steal just a few minutes of quiet time where no one….and I mean no one…is asking me to do anything.
Then, I realize its Sunday. And somewhere in my bedroom (where I used to sleep) is my husband. Neglected, alone – and likely taking up the entire bed. (Somehow, that’s not fair since I fell asleep scrunched between two children)
But, I also realize it’s been a week or so since we (my husband and I) have had sex, and I believe (for a fleeting moment) that it would be nice of me – wifely of me, to pass on the quiet to go in and have ‘quiet’ sex. He wouldn’t really have to wake up, which is exactly how our 4th child was conceived. (He still blames her on me). And, hell….at this point in our relationship it wouldn’t even last that long. He could go right back to sleep.
It hits me during this typical moment; of trying to balance quiet ‘for me’ time, with romantic spouse time – that there never truly is a quiet moment in the mind of a mother. The switching of the hats is a constant, furiously frustrating, and impossibly hideous way to live. And yet, it’s unavoidable. One minute I am thinking about sex with my husband and the next, I am thinking about wiping some one else’s ass. By the time she gets to the “Is it clean and shiny part,” with her butt crack up in the air for me to check, all inclinations for sex are literally lost.
As a few more minutes pass, I opt for coffee. If I am going to have sex with my husband, then I will need and want coffee. I begin to wonder if really, he would rather sleep in than have sex, and begin thinking that waking him up might not be the most brilliant idea I have ever had. Plus, whenever I walk into the bedroom in the morning, the room smells like farts – which is almost as much as a buzz kill to sex as wiping someone’s butt. Coffee. Coffee sounds good.
I turn on the television, only to distract me from the millions of things that I really could be doing. I could get on the computer and catch up on work. I could sweep the kitchen, empty the dishwasher. Put a load of laundry in or even start folding the piles of laundry that cover half of my sofa. Oh, and I could go in the fart room for sex.
If I wait long enough, the kids – or at least one of them, will be awake. Then, I will be frustrated and resentful that I didn’t act on my impulses to get something done. It might even put me in a pissy mood for the remainder of the day. Still, I have only had one sip of coffee.
Too often, the compulsion in my life to get things done, or do things – is interrupted by my disability to put things in mental order. Having children does that to incredibly smart and witty people. It makes them stupid, and half-ass, and constantly distracted. Distracted to the point that it is easier to sit around and do nothing all the time, getting absolutely zilch completed and then being angry and frustrated about it later.
Okay, enough already. Sex it is…..Be back in 5 minutes! Okay, so 4 minutes tops…which means I am either really good at it, or he is really bad.