“I don’t even want to tell you now. You’re just going to make fun of Drew for being so thoughtful,” I complain.
“Oh, no. You have to tell Liz just how thoughtful Drew was. Please. Please tell Liz how super your evening was after you left us. Say it slowly and don’t leave anything out,” Claire begs with a huge smile on her face.
I roll my eyes at how ridiculous the two of them are acting about a baby rocker.
“Fine. But not a word out of either of you.”
They both pretend to zip their lips and throw the key away.
“You guys know how tired I was when I left the bar last night. Billy still isn’t sleeping through the night and it takes me forever to get him back to sleep. So, when I got home, Drew told me he had a surprise for me upstairs. I thought it would be another one of his lame excuses to try and have sex.”
Claire snorts and then plays it off like she’s choking when I shoot her a dirty look.
“I get upstairs and of course Billy chose that moment to wake up crying. I got him out of his crib and walked over to our room and saw that Drew lit a bunch of candles. I’ve been complaining about how the nightlight we have is too dark to see by when I feed Billy in the middle of the night and the candles were just perfect. I walked over to the corner of the room where I have the glider so I could rock him and in its place was a baby rocking swing that hung from the ceiling,” I finish, giving both of them a smug look.
Let’s see them make fun of Drew now. My husband is a giant man-child, but sometimes he does sweet, unexpected things. It’s been awhile since he’s done them but this makes up for it.
I stare at Liz expectantly, waiting for her to apologize for being rude.
“Hold on a second. I need a minute,” Liz says as she grabs Claire’s elbow and turns so that they both face away from me.
I roll my eyes at their backs.
“It’s not working. I can see your shoulders shaking. I know you guys are laughing.”
The girls compose themselves and turn back around, trying to keep straight faces.
“So, you guys didn’t have sex last night?” Liz questions in confusion.
“No! I told you, I was tired and then Billy woke up when I got home. But oh my God, that rocker was THE BEST! He went right back to sleep, and I actually fell asleep in it too. Now I know why you never told me about it when the girls were babies. You were afraid I’d try and steal it from you. No wonder they were such good little sleepers.”
Liz nods her head and closes her eyes, holding one hand up in the air as if to say, “STOP!”
“Sorry, I think I need another minute,” she says before mimicking Claire’s earlier pose and bending over at the waist to guffaw at the ground.
“What the hell?” I yell.
“I think what Liz is trying to say is that you rocked your baby to sleep in a SEX swing,” Claire says with a giggle.
I stare at her blankly.
“A. SEX. SWING. From the Latin words, ‘you are supposed to fuck in it, not rock your kid to sleep’,” Claire states.
“What she said!” Liz laughs as she stands back up and then covers her eyes with her hands. “Oh highway to heaven, I can’t even look at you right now!”
Oh. My. God.
“I rocked my son to sleep in something that people bang in?” I whisper in a horrified voice.
“Well, yes. That’s why it’s called a sex swing,” Claire offers.
“Did you actually put your thighs in the stirrups?” Liz laughs.
“Stirrups? Oh my God. I used those to hold the extra bottles,” I complain.
“Oh God, here we go again!” Claire says, bending over and laughing so hard she starts dry heaving. “I’M GOING TO PUKE!” she yells in between heave-laughs.
“I hate both of you. You are both jerks.”
I feel awful. Not just because my friends are jerks, but because my husband had tried to do something kinky and fun and I ruined it.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I used to be fun and outgoing and kinky as hell. Me, of all people, should know what a sex swing is. I had made a mold of my vagina and gave it to Drew on one of our anniversaries for God’s sake. We had even made an amateur sex video and submitted it to YouPorn. Without our faces of course. There are certain things my grandma should never see. Although why my grandmother would be on YouPorn when she’s clearly over the age of legally having sex is beyond me. Isn’t seventy when they say you have to pass a test to keep having sex? Or maybe that’s for your driver’s license. No, I’m pretty sure it’s for sex. Regardless, a sex swing is something I should have first-hand knowledge of.
Stuff like this has been happening more and more lately, Drew attempting to spark something between us, and me not knowing what to do or having no interest in it. My friends have the most perfect marriages and sex lives, and they were able to raise their kids while doing it. Drew and I had managed to do pretty well after Veronica was born a little over three years ago. Our marriage strengthened and we had sex all the time. As soon as I got pregnant with Billy, though, everything stopped. Suddenly, I had to juggle a toddler in potty training hell with a pregnancy that kept me puking almost the entire time and a full time job.
It’s not that I don’t want my husband or don’t love him, sleep just takes priority. Even though the job is flexible, there's still a lot of work that needs to be done. Not to mention the fact that Drew works the night shift, and I'm stuck doing most things alone in the evening.
I never used to have any trouble getting up at four in the morning when he had come home from work for a quickie. I loved having sex with him while I was half asleep and still warm from being under the covers half the night. The first time he tried it after I found out I was pregnant with Billy, I told him if he brought his penis anywhere near me, I would tell all his friends about how he wore my silk thongs to work because he liked how they slid through the crack of his ass when he bent over. Any time after that when, he would get his penis within five feet of me, I would run to the bathroom and throw up. I was pretty sure he took defense to that. It wasn't my fault the sight of his penis made me sick to my stomach. He has a very pretty penis, actually, and I even drew a picture of it once. There had just been something about how it looked like a jellyfish with one eye that made me queasy. Once Billy was born, I had just been too exhausted to even think about sex.
Our son STILL doesn’t sleep through the night. Right now, I just want a full night of sleep more than I want sex. Okay, I'll take that back. I do want sex. Just not at appropriate times. Every time I want it, Drew’s either sleeping or he’s at work. It never happens when we’re in the same room together. I can’t even masturbate right anymore. The last time I tried, I fell asleep with my vibrator in my hand. While it was still running.
Drew had come home from work and found me sprawled out in bed with my arm flung off the side, clutching a big pink vibrator that was slowly losing juice. Instead of sounding like wirrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr, it sounded more like, wirr-rrr-wirrrr-r……rr. I couldn’t help that the vibrations lulled me to sleep. Now I knew why babies loved their vibrating bouncy seats. Drew got excited when I loaded up on double-A batteries at the grocery store that week, and I made sure my nightstand was fully stocked with them. I was pretty sure I could hear him weeping in the bathroom when he found out I just needed them so I could stick my vibrator under the mattress to help me fall asleep faster. At least I thought he was weeping. He had made some really funny sounds and when I had knocked on the bathroom door, he said he was busy reading.
I need to do something to re-erect our love life.
Re-erect? Is that a word? That’s the word I’m looking for, right? Whatever.
First, I need to do something to get myself in shape. Three months post-baby and I still feel big as a house. I lost all the baby weight pretty quickly, but I still feel like my ass is huge. I also need to do something about my vagina. There is no way it feels the same to him when we have sex. Although, we haven’t really
had sex since Billy was born. I let him get halfway in and then he made some comment about my sloppy vagina and I told him to get off of me. Plenty of women have natural child birth and they don’t have floppy vaginas. I've looked it up on the internet. I've tried to look at mine with a mirror and my leg up on the sink of the bathroom. That had been right after I got home from the hospital with Billy though and it was a hot mess. I probably should have waited a few more weeks, but now I can’t look at raw ground meat without crossing my legs and wincing.
Basically, I’m afraid to have sex with my husband. He’s always loved my vagina. He even has a shirt that says: I love my wife’s vagina. What if having sex with me now is like fucking a bowl of Jell-O Jigglers? That is not at all hot, especially if they’re green Jell-O Jigglers. I’m not saying my vagina is green, but I’m sure it’s jiggly. I shook it a little when I had looked at it in the mirror and it definitely wiggled when it jiggled. Vagina’s should never jiggle.
I am going to leave work early and go to a yoga class. Getting my body in shape might help make me feel better and then I can work on getting Drew to help out more around the house so I’m not so tired all of the time. Drew doesn’t work tonight so he’s home with the kids all day. Maybe a little bending and stretching will get things back to where they’re supposed to be, and I won’t have to worry about the lips of my vagina hanging low and wobbling to and fro. You should never be able to tie them in a knot OR a bow.
Chapter 4 – Downwind Lapping Dog
“HE CALLED SHIT, POOP!”
I laugh out loud and put up my hand so my daughter can give me a high five.
I can’t help but laugh whenever Veronica quotes her and her brother’s namesake movie: Billy Madison. We are curled up on the couch together, watching the best movie of all time, and Billy is asleep in his swing a few feet away.
Jenny walks in the door a few minutes later. Actually, she limps in the door and hobbles across the room until she makes it to the couch and sits down on the other side of Veronica, giving her a kiss on the head.
“Mommy, you gots a boo-boo?” Veronica asks her.
I stare in horror at Jenny as she pulls the footstool closer and props her leg up on top of it, leaning back into the couch and pulling Veronica onto her lap.
Oh my God. This is it. This is the fake injury. How should I play this? Should I call her out immediately and tell her she’s a big, fat liar? Wait, never call a woman fat. Especially after pregnancy, even if you’re just joking. Lives will be lost. Maybe I should just play along and keep my cool.
“Yes, mommy has a boo-boo,” Jenny replies with a sigh.
“HA HA! YOU GOT HURT!” I yell.
Jenny gives me a dirty look and I quickly wipe the smile off of my face.
What the fuck was that? I shouldn’t be happy if she’s injured, right? Play it cool, man. Play it cool.
“I mean, that sucks that you got hurt. You hurt yourself. That’s just sucky. I mean, because you know, you hurt yourself.”
There. Much better. Be calm, be cool. She’ll never know you suspect anything.
Jenny’s dirty look never leaves her face and I start to squirm. “You couldn’t have picked up a little today? This house is a mess.”
I look around at all of the toys on the floor and the dirty dishes on the coffee table.
“We were busy watching movies,” I explain.
She turns and looks at the TV, noticing for the first time what we’re watching.
“You have seriously got to quit watching this stupid movie. Veronica doesn’t stop quoting it as it is,” Jenny complains with a sigh.
This worker’s comp fraud has already changed her! She used to love this movie. Nooooooooo!
“So, how did you hurt yourself? You know, when you really hurt yourself,” I ask, folding my hands in my lap and acting concerned.
She can’t know that you know. What if it’s like that TV show, When Animals Attack? She might just come at you, bro.
“Well, I decided to leave work a little early and try a yoga class. It turns out I’m not as flexible as I used to be,” she tells me.
Is yoga her code word for something? Is that what she’s calling “sticking it to the man” now? I wonder if she has a group of minions working for her, helping her with this elaborate lie. Yoga – yeah right!
“I tried doing that Downwind Lapping Dog thing and I twisted my ankle,” she finishes, resting her head on the back of the couch and closing her eyes.
See? I totally caught her in her lie. Downwind Lapping Dog isn’t the name of a yoga move. It’s a Chinese proverb or something, like, “He who fart in church sit in stinky pew.” I think it goes, “He who is downwind of lapping dog make bump-bump in pants.”
“So does Claire know? Did you tell Claire? What did Claire say?” I question.
“No, why would Claire know? After class I just wanted to get home and put my foot up. I haven’t had a chance to talk to her yet.”
Ahhhh, so she’s biding her time, formulating a plan. I got ya.
Jenny picks Veronica up from her lap and sets her back down next to her, pushes herself up off of the couch, and starts hobbling towards the kitchen.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
“I need to get some ice for my ankle,” she replies as she uses the wall to support her as she goes.
Wow, she’s good. She really thought this through. I would have never thought to go get ice. That limp kind of looks real too. She must have been practicing.
I jump up and go to her side in a show of “helping” her with her “injury”, when really, I just want to see if I can trip her up.
As I help her walk into the kitchen, I stick my foot out in front of her and she stumbles over it, grabbing onto the table at the last minute before she falls to the ground.
“Drew! What the hell? Did you just trip me?” she yells.
“How’s your ankle?” I ask, staring down at the foot suspiciously as she holds it a few inches above the floor.
“What is wrong with you today? You’re acting weird,” she mutters before using one of the chairs to help her stand and then hops over to the freezer to grab an ice pack.
“I’m onto you, Jenny,” I tell her menacingly.
“What the hell are you talking about?” she asks as she sits at the kitchen table, brings her foot up to a chair, and sets the ice pack on top of her ankle with a wince.
Man alive, how is she so good at this? I never knew she was such a good faker. Oh Jesus, what if this isn’t the only thing she fakes? Oh my God. This is why she never wants to have sex with me. She’s tired of faking it!
“You’re faking it when you have sex with Claire and now you want to cheat me out of my money! Sons a bitchin!” I yell, before stomping out of the room.
~
In hindsight, I’m pretty sure I can pinpoint exactly where I went wrong with Jenny. I blame it all on natural childbirth. No man should ever have to see his wife in that position. No man should ever have to look at a live vagina in that position. Although a dead vagina in that position would probably be just as bad because it would be dead. A dead, gooey vagina. It’s a sight you can never un-see.
The day had started off fairly well. Jenny was a week overdue so the doctor had her check into the hospital first thing in the morning so she could be induced. We took Veronica with us since the day would mainly consist of us sitting around waiting for something to happen. Carter and Claire agreed to take her home with them for a sleepover once things started progressing. We did everything we were supposed to do so Veronica wouldn’t hate her brother at first sight. We included her when we picked out the name, we let her help decorate the nursery, we brought her to the hospital, and we had a present hidden in Jenny’s overnight bag that would be given to Veronica, “from her brother”, as soon as he was born - everything necessary so she wouldn’t step on his nuts and call him a shitbag when she saw him. Considering that was the name she picked for him, calling him that at first sight actually wouldn’t hav
e been that weird. It was her new favorite word, and it was a hard sell to get her to pick another name out for him when we were going through the baby name book.
“But I wanna call him Shitbag! Baby is a shitbag!”
It was kind of hard to be mad when she strung together her first swear word sentence. It really was a proud day for me.
Around lunchtime on the day of delivery was when things got serious. And by serious, I mean seriously fucked up. Jenny’s contractions went through the roof and the woman I like to refer to as “Crazy-Ass Bitch” made an appearance. And I mean that in the nicest way possible.
“WHERE THE FUCK IS THE GUY WITH THE DRUGS?”
I put my hands over Veronica’s ears and stared in horror at my wife. Jenny never yelled or cursed in front of Veronica. Ever. She raised her voice at times, but it was usually just because someone couldn’t hear what she was saying. This was a whole new side of her I wasn’t used to.
“The nurse just paged him like two minutes ago, baby. He’ll be here soon,” I reassured her as I removed my hands from Veronica’s ears.
“FUCK YOU!”
I glanced at the contraction monitor and saw that the little squiggly lines were so far off of the top of the page that the thing was flashing a red warning light.
“Breathe, baby. Just breathe. Think about something else,” I told her.
“I’M THINKING ABOUT SHOVING YOUR BALLS STRAIGHT UP YOUR ASS, YOU SHIT HOLE!”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Carter and Claire standing in the doorway with equal looks of horror on their faces.
“Um, so we’ll just come back later,” Claire said as she quickly darted in the room, scooped up Veronica, and made a mad dash back to Carter whispering, “GO, GO, GO!”
With Veronica out of earshot, I walked over to the side of the bed and tried smoothing hair off of Jenny’s forehead and telling her it would be okay, but she bit off my hand.
And that wasn't an exaggeration. She literally leaned over and clamped her teeth around the palm of my hand.
The doctor had showed up a few minutes later, but when he told Jenny he wasn’t the one with the drugs, I actually feared for the poor guy’s life. Then he had told her he needed to break her water to really get things going.