Apologies in advance to my husband who secretly enjoys reading my blog.
We are 10 years (nearly) into our relationship. We are trying for a baby. Let’s be honest here, sex isn’t always swinging from the chandeliers or a chapter from an erotic novel.
It WAS, and sometimes still very much IS, but tonight it definitely WAS NOT.
The most erotic line was said to me by Dave when he came upstairs at 8:30pm tonight whilst I was watching TV in bed and doing some work:
“Assume the position then.”
Well, how can you NOT get turned on by that?
Then (it gets better), he casually mentions (whilst I’m removing my pyjamas and pants) that there has been a terrorist attack in Germany (not exactly hot foreplay conversation).
Finally, he lays there hawking up phlegm and tells me he thinks he’s got a cold so there’ll be no kissing. “Just functional sex I’m afraid.”
His hoody smelt of his steak dinner from earlier on in the evening, I had glitter all over my face from making Christmas cards this afternoon, and we both laid there yawning and exhausted from work.
With ovulation around the corner, we couldn’t take a chance with skipping today. My temp spike might be tomorrow, or it might be Wednesday or it might not be until the end of the week, but today is CD18 and I tend to ovulate day 19 or 20 so we needed to collect those hearts.
Indulgent love making would have to wait. Until Christmas. When we’ve both rested and caught up on our sleep.
But unfortunately my fertile time is now. And my egg won’t wait until we’ve both stopped work for the Christmas holidays.
We cracked on with it.
I took the time to make a mental list of what I needed to do at school tomorrow on the last day of term. I thought Dave was close to finishing but it was a false alarm. So then I made another list for the food shop at the end of the week. I made some encouraging noises to help things along.
Then after it was all over, I congratulated him on a job well done, thanked him for his efforts, put my pyjamas back on got back to my handwriting books and an episode of Judge Rinder.
We are 30 and 31 years old.
Take me back to the days of shagging in cars and nightclub toilets!