Matt Rudd reports in the Sunday Times about Sex after your become a parent..
photo credit: denilson takeda
In the days before children, sex is a magical thing. There are whole acres of weekend or evening or, if you’re kinky, lunchtime to indulge yourselves. But when the stork does its worst, all bets are off. The windows of opportunity for any bedroom antics decrease suddenly, and the venues become limited. So you end up retreating to the garden shed once a month for 17 naughty minutes, stopping panickily every few minutes because you thought you heard crying. And even though it’s only 17 minutes and it’s only once a month, it’s also the very last thing you feel like, because the level of sleep deprivation you’re experiencing makes you laugh hysterically every time you recall how easy life used to be. The prospect of trying to avoid a rake-related sex injury is almost too much to bear.
I could not possible comment…
