Posted on 03/30/2005 8:13:49 PM PST by paulat
March 27, 2005 MODERN LOVE Truly, Madly, Guiltily By AYELET WALDMAN
HAVE been in many mothers' groups - Mommy and Me, Gymboree, Second-Time Moms - and each time, within three minutes, the conversation invariably comes around to the topic of how often mommy feels compelled to put out. Everyone wants to be reassured that no one else is having sex either. These are women who, for the most part, are comfortable with their bodies, consider themselves sexual beings. These are women who love their husbands or partners. Still, almost none of them are having any sex.
There are agreed upon reasons for this bed death. They are exhausted. It still hurts. They are so physically available to their babies - nursing, carrying, stroking - how could they bear to be physically available to anyone else?
But the real reason for this lack of sex, or at least the most profound, is that the wife's passion has been refocused. Instead of concentrating her ardor on her husband, she concentrates it on her babies. Where once her husband was the center of her passionate universe, there is now a new sun in whose orbit she revolves. Libido, as she once knew it, is gone, and in its place is all-consuming maternal desire. There is absolute unanimity on this topic, and instant reassurance.
Except, that is, from me.
I am the only woman in Mommy and Me who seems to be, well, getting any. This could fill me with smug well-being. I could sit in the room and gloat over my wonderful marriage. I could think about how our sex life - always vital, even torrid - is more exciting and imaginative now than it was when we first met. I could check my watch to see if I have time to stop at Good Vibrations to see if they have any exciting new toys. I could even gaze pityingly at the other mothers in the group, wishing that they too could experience a love as deep as my own.
But I don't. I am far too busy worrying about what's wrong with me. Why, of all the women in the room, am I the only one who has not made the erotic transition a good mother is supposed to make? Why am I the only one incapable of placing her children at the center of her passionate universe?
WHEN my first daughter was born, my husband held her in his hands and said, "My God, she's so beautiful."
I unwrapped the baby from her blankets. She was average size, with long thin fingers and a random assortment of toes. Her eyes were close set, and she had her father's hooked nose. It looked better on him.
She looked like a newborn baby, red and scrawny, blotchy faced and mewling. I don't remember what I said to my husband. Actually I remember very little of my Percocet- and Vicodin-fogged first few days of motherhood except for someone calling and squealing, "Aren't you just completely in love?" And of course I was. Just not with my baby.
I do love her. But I'm not in love with her. Nor with her two brothers or sister. Yes, I have four children. Four children with whom I spend a good part of every day: bathing them, combing their hair, sitting with them while they do their homework, holding them while they weep their tragic tears. But I'm not in love with any of them. I am in love with my husband.
It is his face that inspires in me paroxysms of infatuated devotion. If a good mother is one who loves her child more than anyone else in the world, I am not a good mother. I am in fact a bad mother. I love my husband more than I love my children.
An example: I often engage in the parental pastime known as God Forbid. What if, God forbid, someone were to snatch one of my children? God forbid. I imagine what it would feel like to lose one or even all of them. I imagine myself consumed, destroyed by the pain. And yet, in these imaginings, there is always a future beyond the child's death. Because if I were to lose one of my children, God forbid, even if I lost all my children, God forbid, I would still have him, my husband.
But my imagination simply fails me when I try to picture a future beyond my husband's death. Of course I would have to live. I have four children, a mortgage, work to do. But I can imagine no joy without my husband.
I don't think the other mothers at Mommy and Me feel this way. I know they would be absolutely devastated if they found themselves widowed. But any one of them would sacrifice anything, including their husbands, for their children.
Can my bad motherhood be my husband's fault? Perhaps he just inspires more complete adoration than other husbands. He cooks, cleans, cares for the children at least 50 percent of the time.
If the most erotic form of foreplay to a mother of a small child is, as I've heard some women claim, loading the dishwasher or sweeping the floor, then he's a master of titillation.
He's handsome, brilliant and successful. But he can also be scatterbrained, antisocial and arrogant. He is a bad dancer, and he knows far too much about Klingon politics and the lyrics to Yes songs. All in all, he's not that much better than other men. The fault must be my own.
I am trying to remember those first days and weeks after giving birth. I know that my sexual longing for my husband took a while to return. I recall not wanting to make love. I did not even want to cuddle. At times I felt that if my husband's hand were to accidentally brush against my breast while reaching for the saltshaker, I would saw it off with the butter knife.
Even now I am not always in the mood. By the time the children go to bed, I am as drained as any mother who has spent her day working, car pooling, building Lego castles and shopping for the precisely correct soccer cleat. I am also a compulsive reader. Put together fatigue and bookwormishness, and you could have a situation in which nobody ever gets any. Except that when I catch a glimpse of my husband from the corner of my eye - his smooth, round shoulders, his bright-blue eyes through the magnification of his reading glasses - I fold over the page of my novel.
Sometimes I think I am alone in this obsession with my spouse. Sometimes I think my husband does not feel as I do. He loves the children the way a mother is supposed to. He has put them at the center of his world. But he is a man and thus possesses a strong libido. Having found something to usurp me as the sun of his universe does not mean he wants to make love to me any less.
And yet, he says I am wrong. He says he loves me as I love him. Every so often we escape from the children for a few days. We talk about our love, about how much we love each other's bodies and brains, about the things that make us happy in our marriage.
During the course of these meandering and exhilarating conversations, we touch each other, we start to make love, we stop.
And afterward my husband will say that we, he and I, are the core of what he cherishes, that the children are satellites, beloved but tangential.
He seems entirely unperturbed by loving me like this. Loving me more than his children does not bother him. It does not make him feel like a bad father. He does not feel that loving me more than he loves them is a kind of infidelity.
And neither, I suppose, should I. I should not use that wretched phrase "bad mother." At the very least, I should allow that, if nothing else, I am good enough. I do know this: When I look around the room at the other mothers in the group, I know that I would not change places with any of them.
I wish some learned sociologist would publish a definitive study of marriages where the parents are desperately, ardently in love, where the parents love each other even more than they love the children. It would be wonderful if it could be established, once and for all, that the children of these marriages are more successful, happier, live longer and have healthier lives than children whose mothers focus their desires and passions on them.
BUT even in the likely event that this study is not forthcoming, even in the event that I face a day of reckoning in which my children, God forbid, become heroin addicts or, God forbid, are unable to form decent attachments and wander from one miserable and unsatisfying relationship to another, or, God forbid, other things too awful even to imagine befall them, I cannot regret that when I look at my husband I still feel the same quickening of desire that I felt 12 years ago when I saw him for the first time, standing in the lobby of my apartment building, a bouquet of purple irises in his hands.
And if my children resent having been moons rather than the sun? If they berate me for not having loved them enough? If they call me a bad mother?
I will tell them that I wish for them a love like I have for their father. I will tell them that they are my children, and they deserve both to love and be loved like that. I will tell them to settle for nothing less than what they saw when they looked at me, looking at him.
Ayelet Waldman is the author of the novel "Daughter's Keeper." This essay is adapted from "Because I Said So: 33 Mothers Write About Children, Sex, Men, Aging, Faith, Race and Themselves" to be published by HarperCollins next month.
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Children are disowned all the time. That's neither here nor there.
The point is that the introduction of children into a family should not change the behavior between the husband and the wife.
It should not. But it all too often does. And it is usually the woman who changes. The first thing to go is the sex. That's what the writer of this article talks about in the first paragraph, the way most women change.
But not all women experience this change. It's taboo to talk about, just like it's taboo to say you don't want children at all. Those threads always draw animosity on Free Republic. People who don't want kids are called selfish.
I can relate to this woman because the thought of losing my husband in death is the scariest thing I can imagine. That kind of connection, that "best friend" doesn't come along often. The thought of losing him through divorce is unimaginable. He'd have to become someone other than the person he was at the start, and that's certainly possible, but it won't happen because I put the children before him.
I don't see how this woman is a bad or inferior mother because she raves more about the man she chose and connected with. It's okay for men to admit that when their children are young, they don't go ga-ga crazy. Well some women are the same way, doesn't mean they don't love their kids.
Another Andrea Yates in the making.
I bet if she had 4 husbands and one child she would love the child more.
If she had four husbands and one child, she'd probably die with a smile on her face.
A sense of humor [especially about former spousen] , and wisdom, too.
How VERY uncommon.
Excellent piece. I think she's right.
LOL! I think I love you!
Just checked out your profile page...you seem to have a very good sense of humor too! :)
Hon,
There have been times in my life where humor was the only alternative to going batshit crazy.
I ain't updated that thing in a coupla years.
Go to the Links.
It's called the PRIORITIES in life, GOD first, then your spouse, then your family.
I believe you are describing the natural history of motherhood. When they are babies, the maternal love is overwhelming, all-encompassing. Which is as it should be when they need you 24/7. As they grow, the maternal bonds naturally loosen, as they should. The focus returns to the husband. I am grateful that my husband understood this and was patient when I was occupied with babies. Now that the children are mostly grown, the focus has returned to him.
That's why workshops were invented.
: ^ )
What is it with New York City women that they have to obsess about their sex lives, either for good or ill?
Thank you for your post. I am single, 28 yrs old. The product of divorced parents (I was 2 at the time). I gotta tell you, I long for this type of relationship. I don't see anything wrong with this article. Children grow up and leave. Your spouse is forever. A buddy once told me "Don't marry someone you can live with. Marry someone you can't live without.
At 37 years old...I am going to own my first gun in less than a month. I go next weekend for the CCW class, and then I will decide what caliber of weapon I want.
I may have to look through some of those threads and see if I can pick up any important info that will be useful to me! I need something that will not only stop a person in their tracks, but will drop them like a lead weight at close range! Any ideas?
Well, a .45 will drop pretty much anyone. A .40 will also do the job. A 9mm is smaller but is usually enough for stopping power. Anything smaller than that (.380, .25, .22) might be too small. Then there are the .38's and the .357's. It depends on where you live too. Is it highly populated? Factors like that do make a difference. Also how much you shoot. The bigger the gun, the more expensive the ammo. Hollow points are for carrying and they are expensive. Practice rounds are cheaper and also less powerful b/c they have less grains.
You have freepmail!
My wife and I used to talk during sex to increase communication. I would say, "Are you awake." and she would reply, "zzzzzzz."
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