Trajectory of sex before marriage, after marriage, and after kids

I’m one of the select women who can verbally say and own that I’ve slutted it out. I really have. I mean… she was a hoe… the hoe was me. If you know me personally or have been following me throughout the year (wow, feeler? Celebrity?), you would instantly group me in the category of extreme, super ultimate ho hoes. If we were playing Family Feud and Steve asks you to provide names of ultimate hoes, I’d be up there, no need for a poll. The stage crowd would probably even just point to me.

Sex was such a crucial part of my life before getting married that I wrote about it everyday, not just the mere act of it but its entirety—the psychology behind it, its evolution, and its depths—I lived in it. It’s there in my core. My dream in life was to be the country’s hot, sex therapist, and if that doesn’t transpire I would be a high-end prostitute in California and wait for a rich, handsome stockbroker with a bid dyick to sweep me off my feet so I don’t have to hoe it out anymore. Not lying. I wanted to be Julia Roberts. Neither happened, obvi, because I have traumas of my own and there were no courses for clinical sexology in the country. But I was swept off my feet, nonetheless, by a handsome stockbroker guy with a bid dyick, but remove the stock and the r at the end fuck my life.

Zow… never… I mean… never in a million fucking years would I have imagined myself to be somebody who would reject sex repeatedly.

But here I am, married with three kids and constantly worried about my waning, no, dissipating sex life. I know. It’s a travesty.

I’ve even cried about it—hysteric cries in the shower. You can’t even imagine. I may be even grieving it. It’s like I’m losing a significant chunk of who I am, bit my bit.

I’m writing it about it now because I'm trying to process and understand how and when it transpired and because nobody fucking told me this would happen. Nobody told me, “When you have kids, your Pikachu will die.” Nobody. Absolutely not fucking one. Not even online.

Well… I’d be the one to tell you now that when you have kids, your punani will die, slowly, at a snail’s pace. I’m about to call a priest because it’s time for my vagina to be anointed as it ascends to heaven.

The problem izzz… not a lot of people, especially women, talk about it openly and acknowledge that it’s a problem. It seems like it’s being accepted, you know? “What do you want me to do? I have kids and we have no time for romance anymore” seems to be the standard response.

Like… it seems to me that we’re just accepting the reality that we gradually become sexless as we get older and as we build a family. Like it’s not a big deal, you know? It happens. It is what is it.

And although it seems like it shouldn’t be a thing that should be problemized considering that kids must always come first when you have a family, I believe it’s something married couples should prioritize to be able to create a loving family unit and foster a loving environment for the kids to grow up in. I believe great sexual intimacy is key to a lasting marriage—doesn’t have to happen frequently, great sexual intimacy doesn’t necessarily means frequent sex, but I think if we don’t do anything about a dying sex life and we simply accept it, the marriage will fall apart eventually.

Listen… I don’t regret having kids, not one bit. Those gremlins are my fucking life, my breath, my blood, my plasma, my oxygen, and reasons for my existence. I’d have 10 more if I were filthy rich. However… I’m insolvent ATM and can’t afford to bring another life into this blue planet. But… I wish somebody would have told me when I was younger so that I could have prepared for it, you know? And not go through phases where I didn’t know what the fuck was happening and scared shitless for my marriage because I didn’t know how to navigate a dead sex life. Until now it’s hit and miss. I don’t know how to fucking fix it. I constantly reject it.

I didn’t notice it right away, but the further I paid attention to it, the more it became apparent.

For instance, before kids, my husband and I would have sex, every fucking day. Every fucking day. “That’s just not possible, who does that?” We did. I met my match in him, he met his match in me—sexually. It’s the only thing that made us compatible; we’re a mismatch in terms of everything else. Char. We had so much sex, I developed an inflamed cervix that killed one ovary because the inflammation spread to my fallopian tubes and one ovary. I only have one functioning ovary now because of too much dyick. I know, “Sluuuuuuu-uuut.”

The fuck do you want me to do? We were young, had the time, had the freedom, crazy about each other, you know, just all the feels when you’re young and in love and psychobatshit crazy about a person. Obzzezzed. I mean it was fucking disgusting. We were obzzezzed with each other.

And then I had my first kid. Obviously, the sex didn’t happen every day anymore because I was just so fucking exhausted, sleepless, and just out of it.

The sex dialed down to thrice or twice a week. Which was still fairly acceptable for us. I can deal with twice or thrice a week of sex, because there were many other things that required attention—our jobs, our businesses, our kid, trying to provide for our kid and trying to navigate being new parents.

And then I had my second kid. From twice/thrice a week of sex… it reduced to once a week. At that point it wasn’t even a priority anymore. We were lucky if we did it once in a week.

And then I had my third kid. From once a week of sex… to once or twice a month. There were even months that sex was not on the agenda. It almost became nonexistent. There were multiple attempts to have sex, but they were rarely successful.

Although it was never a massive problem between the two of us, because I guess we have exhausted our quota before having kids, we never fought about the lack of sex and the repeated rejections he received because we both understand that we’re in a different time of our lives. Making money and being present parents are the current ultimate goals.

I do see it as a growing problem every time I reject my husband. He doesn’t say anything about it. He never complained about it, because he very well knows I would punch him in the throat, but his eyes don’t lie. They always look sullen and destitute when I say “No.” Like I’ve abandoned him, you know? He doesn’t say shit about it, but he always gives that defeated look every time I say “Not tonight” or “How about a handjob?”  

There’s a plethora of reasons why I reject my husband’s sexual advances—reasons I would have considered lame or invalid, if I were still that young hoe.

·     The exhaustion. I’m fucking exhausted, man. I am just absolutely exhausted. I am sleep deprived and exhausted. I don’t know if it’s age, or because I’m just honestly exhausted, but before kids, and before turning thirty, I could go two days without sleeping—without meth. Char. But after turning thirty, I sleep one minute past midnight and I’d need a whole fucking day to recover. I just don’t have the energy anymore because I tend to the kids 24/7. When you’re a mom you’re giving your energy to your kids 24/7. Although I do have hired help, it’s not enough. I honestly need one hired help for one kid if I wanted to improve the quality of my life. So it’s something you should consider when having kids. You can’t do it alone. You. Cannot. Do. It. Alone. Even if you’re the full-time carer, and don’t need to work, you still can’t do it alone. I’m fucking telling you. This shit is not for the weak. They were all right when they said it takes a fucking village. Even if it’s just one kid, you cannot do it alone. Although my work as a social science academic editor and my small online business allow me to be at home and work anywhere and anytime, it still requires much of my time, which adds to my exhaustion.

·      My baddeh… my once tight, sexy baddeh, poverty skinny baddeh, “You miss my baddeh?” Char. Isn’t tight anymore. It’s falling apart. It’s loose everywhere.

First, my breasts that were once up on my chest and below my collarbone, are now down to my waist. I’m not fucking exaggerating, bro. I have those floppy pancake titz like those of indigenous African women—no hate or disrespect, but that’s what they honestly look like.

Second, my areolas are the size of Korean side dish plates. Mmyeah. I asked my OB why they just grew so fucking dark and wide and she said it’s because babies can only see black and white during their first few weeks making it easier for them to see the titz. She may be lying so I’d feel better about them, I don’t fucking know, but online research claims the same.

Third, my nipples are now elongated, thick, and feel rubberized. They look like chewed-on, overdone beef stroganoff. Google it, bitch, and you’ll see. I can’t feel them anymore. I’m fine with them, I have no problem with how they look right now because I’ve nurtured my three kids through breastfeeding for eight consecutive years, but it’s just the reality of it. I’ve learned to deal with how they look after kids.

Fourth, my mom pooch, it doesn’t go away, no matter what I fucking do—starvation, poverty, forced OMAD to save money, exercise, Pilates, yoga, everything else will lose fat except that. It’s a combination of visceral fat and loose skin. My kids call it “jelly belly,” and not the candy ones. I know, fucking ingrates. Char.

Lastly, the most important bit… after hitting thirty with two kids, my vagina became unrecognizable. I don’t fucking know who she is. It’s like overdone, dry roast beef that’s been left under a buffet food warmer all day and reheated to be served the next day.

It used to be this fresh, plump, blush tulip. All the shades you’d want in a cheek tint, not in a contour. Now it’s like all the bees sucked out all its nectar and left it to dry out under the sun to be sold as a preserved flower used to make homemade candles, the fuck.

Also, after having my third kid, my vagina, inside, doesn’t function the same. It’s dislocated. It’s misplaced. It’s disjointed. It’s malformed. It’s just not the same. Uh-uh.

It could be because I had shoulder dystocia with my third kid—it’s when the baby’s shoulder gets stuck under the pubic bone because either the baby’s so fat or has broad shoulders—and something somehow got dislocated or moved that some sex positions that didn’t hurt before having kids now fucking hurt.

I went to my OB to have it checked out and it turns out… I may have uterine prolapse—it’s when the uterus sags into the vagina because of weakened pelvic floor muscles due to multiple pregnancies. It’s now why I have trouble emptying my bladder in the morning, and am always reminded of my Grandma Nena who had 8 kids and it always took her 15 minutes to pee. Not exaggerating. Now, I am her. She is me. 

All this… take all this… while being asked to get naked in front of my husband? All the extra skin? Extra jiggle? Pigmentation? Stretch marks? Skin discoloration? My triple chin? Uh-uh. Nope. I look like a Picasso painting when naked. And the same reaction you’d give while looking at a Picasso would be the same reaction you’d give me if you were to see me naked—tilting your head left and right, squinted eyes, confused and unsure of what the fuck you’re looking at. Dim lighting is now my best friend. Fuck fluorescent. In fact pitch dark is where it’s at.

I used to prefer sex under blaring white lights because I was beautiful, you know? I was always “Yassss… see all of me. Watch my gorgeous face.” Now? Bitch… now? I prefer to have sex with clothes on. What do you mean take all of my clothes off? My clothes are a part of me now. They won’t come off even in pitch dark. They have become my skin.

Pregnancy has changed my body in all the ways it could change. I’m okay with it… I can look at myself in the mirror naked and not turn away, but of course I’m not gonna sit here and lie and say I’m not worried about what my husband thinks of me when I’m naked, even though he says he doesn’t care, they all fucking do, okay? Somehow, they all fucking do. Zow… I think that is a significant factor of why there’s less sex, on top of the exhaustion.

·      I value sleep now more than sex. With two kids in school, 4AM is the standard time the clock alarms every fucking morning. If I don’t get at least 6 hours of sleep, I feel lousy, irritable, resentful, and lazy the entire day. So when the kids are asleep, and my husband gives that sly, naughty smile, it’s automatically, “Uh-uh. We have to wake up in five hours. Go to bed. We don’t have the fucking time.” It was like a Freaky Friday moment. I was living as Samantha Jones, and somehow Miranda Hobbs has me possessed.

I’m not gonna lie… it makes me feel like a shit wife, but I can’t help it. It’s how I’ve been feeling. But these are the factors you have to think about before having kids so that you can prepare for them and address them early on. Your husband should also be aware of these changes, so he won’t be a demanding asshole when the time comes that you’re transitioning from being a free summer slut to a devoted mom slut.

Now… am I worried about my dissipating sex drive? I am… I really am. I do worry about it every now and then because it’s a part of who I thought I was, you know? It makes me feel like I’m disappearing into the background, and it makes me feel useless to my husband.

            I’ve asked my husband before if it affects his love for me, and he said, “It doesn’t, because although we have less sex, it’s great every time and we do try to have as much presence for each other when we do.” But he added, “It does make me feel unloved and unwanted when you reject me right away, but it’s okay, I understand.”

            I was like… whaaaaaaaat? Unloved and unwanted??? Coming from a man? I had never thought that’s what it made him feel. When he said that… I became proactive in trying to compensate for the rejections, because it is not a nice feeling to be rejected. I’d probably roll over and stab myself with a butter knife if my husband were to reject me.  Zow… to try and compensate, I always try to give him a car blowjob when we’re off to shop for groceries or run errands.  

The thing I love about car blowjobs is that I don’t have to do shiet. I don’t have to undress. He doesn’t have to see my Picasso body. I don’t have to spread my legs and be worried about the pigmentation that transpired over the course of three pregnancies. I don’t have to concentrate to get myself in the zone, and they always cum quick because car blowjobs are always exciting for them, zow it only takes less than 10 minutes, and it’s done. I love it! Whereas blowjobs at home are more time consuming because he’s relaxed, he’s not worried about getting caught, and he’s taking his time and just relishing it. Uh-uh. I need it quick, zow… car blowjobs are the trick. He gets a release, I feel less of a shit wife, it’s a win win.

I did bring up the lack of sex drive to my OB because it’s becoming worrisome because it seems like I’ve been rejecting my husband more and more recently and she said, “Stop pressuring yourself. You are still breastfeeding. Breastfeeding can lower libido because of hormonal shifts. That happens because your body is protecting itself from another pregnancy. Because if you get pregnant again soon, you won’t be able to produce enough milk to care for your baby properly because your body will of course prioritize nourishing the pregnancy instead of the new baby. Don’t rush yourself. It will come back after you have weaned. Your exhaustion can’t be addressed, you can’t do anything about it, because you have three kids, but you can try to get your energy back up with supplements and proper exercise.”

I was like…. Ohhhhh shit. This is why you go to professionals, people, and not to village sluts like me. I asked, “What if it stays the same even after weaning? Because I noticed that with my second, my sex drive really dropped, even when it’s two years after.”

“We can worry about that later, but chances are your body is still recovering from having a pregnancy one after the other. It takes two to three years for your body to fully recover after a pregnancy. That’s for a natural birth, and it’s relatively longer for CS. Let’s deal with the now and worry about that later on if it does appear to persist.”

She turned to my husband with big, wide eyes and said, “So, wag mo muna siya i-pressure mag intercourse, okay?”

To which my husband answered, “Hindi po! Siya nga po nangungulit! Ako nga po yung umaayaw!” And all I could do was roll my eyes.

She also added,

“It’s natural for libido to decrease with age, as hormonal changes occur over time. The female body does have a finite reproductive window, and during younger years, hormonal signals tend to promote sexual activity and fertility. As a woman gets older, these signals gradually decline, and the body shifts away from reproduction due to increasing health and pregnancy risks. While this can be disappointing, it is a biological reality. Fortunately, when this becomes a concern, we now have treatment options available. Prescription hormone therapy can be used, when appropriate, to help restore hormonal levels that have diminished."

I’m like… huh… “So this is why you charge P1,600 per appointment?”

Char… I didn’t ask that, but she’s fucking awesome. She delivered my first two kids, and both went so well (If you’d like a referral, please send me a DM, I don’t want her name connected to my blog as she may not agree with being affiliated with obscenity.

I guess what I’m saying izzz… your sex drive and sex life won’t stay the same, sluts. I promise you… it fucking wont. Have all the sex and sexcapades you can while you’re young—safely and protected, of course—so you won’t feel like you’ve missed out when you’re married, you have kids, and when you’re older. Although it won’t stay the same, and it will minimize and take a few steps back, it’s still really important to include your sex life in the priority list. Don’t fucking judge me for this, but I think the priority list of a mother’s attention from first to last should be:

1.     Kids

2.     Myself

3.     Husband

4.     Intimacy

5.     Family as a whole

However, most of the time, in this economy, what’s happening is:

1.     Kids

2.     Husband

3.     Family as a whole

4.     Money

5.     Myself

6.     Intimacy

Zow… get in your head that if you’re gonna have kids, you need to expect drastic changes in your body and sex life. Be prepared, do your research, OB-GYN visits are imperative, they know their shit, so go to them when you encounter problems with your libido, they’re there to help.

But the most important thing izzzzzzz… if you do encounter this same phase in your life where you’re constantly veering away from wanting to have sex with your husband, don’t sweep it under the rug and consider it to be fine. You can let it linger for a few months, a sexless marriage is okay if it’s just for a few months, but if it lasts longer than that several months… turning it into years… you have to do something about it because your libido level will tell how close you are to dying. I’m just fucking kidding. I’m saying you have to do something about it because sexual intimacy in marriage (during the years when you and your husband can still actively have sex) can definitely help in fostering a loving environment for your family.

We only have one life, bitch. We’re running out of time as we speak. Zow… tick tock suck his cock. Use his dyick, spend his money, sit on his face, but love him like his testicles taste like popsicles.

Love,

Nikkifikfik