Anyone that has been trying to conceive for a year or more knows that sex takes on a whole new meaning and function. For us its become scientific, timed and predictable. We get through it as quick as possible and wait for the next day to do it all over again. After 10 straight days of face down ass up, things get a little stale. In an effort to safeguard my marriage from the doldrums of baby making I put forth some suggestions to my husband to maybe spice things up. Or at least break up the monotony.
Last night Joe took me up on one of those suggestions. Now let me preface this by saying he had a dinner meeting last night and I waited up until 11:30 just so I could see him. That by the time we went to bed I only had the opportunity to get four and a half hours of sleep before my alarm went off. It’s also June, but I refuse to turn on the air conditioner until it is absolutely necessary and our house was way too warm last night. That my husband radiates heat after he’s been drinking and given his wine and scotch consumption at dinner, his body was like a 200 year old furnace underneath the comforter.
I was sweating and tossing and turning. It took me over an hour to fall asleep.
I fell asleep just in time to wake up to the feeling of a hot, sticky palm patting my butt. Now Joe is a sleep time snuggler so I rolled over, quite annoyed, moved closer to my side of the bed and tried to fall back asleep. About 20 minutes after I fell asleep for the SECOND time I felt a sweaty freaking hand on my ass again.
Thoroughly annoyed I picked up his hand and threw it away from me and then proceeded to half shout in my sleep “what the hell do you want, why do you keep on touching me?!” when it hit me. (I’m a little slow.) I just yelled at my husband for spicing things up. By this point he was cowering in the corner half afraid I was going to tear off said hand and beat him with it. Poor guy. I’m sure by the time he got what he wanted he no longer wanted it, but performed for fear of his life.
I woke up this morning and still felt awful. Who yells at their husband for making a move anyway? I do. That’s who.
Anyway, turns out the little stinker was onto something. In a move so surprising I had to pee on a second stick to be sure, my body decided today would be a good day to ovulate a full 5 days earlier than normal. Go figure?
Maybe my pheromones were just too strong for him to handle. Is it possible that biology is kicking in for us at the bottom of the ninth when we’re down by a run with the bases loaded?
Moral of the story is don’t swat at your husband when he puts his sweltering palms all over you. He may just be onto something.
