What part of don’t touch me while I’m sleeping don’t you understand?

Having three busy, active and incredibly frustrating children under 6, I live for my alone time. I love my kids more than the world and I love my time with them, but those moments at the end of the day where I can sit on my front porch and write my blog (as I am doing right now) or read a book or take on a comatose state while the neighbours walk by gossiping and pointing, is pure bliss. No one is climbing on me, kneeing me in my mons pubis, pulling out my hair at the root or using their razor-sharp daggers to rip me a hole in my armpit. Those are true stories.

My second favourite time of day is when I crawl into my comfortable messed-up bed and lay my sweet (yes I am calling myself sweet) head down on the cool pillow. A lot of times I am woken up ten minutes into the first phase of sleep by some child needing something, but that moment is dreamy, seriously. But, if you’ve been reading my blog, you already know that sleep is so important to me. The problem is that I need the conditions to be ultra-perfect for me to fall asleep. I need relative darkness, complete quiet,  the blankets off of my feet and absolutely no touching. I am not one of those girls who sleeps “in the nook” of her man’s body. Cuddling to sleep is completely out of the question. You know those women who complain about men who orgasm and then fall asleep? Mr. UndertheCovers is extremely grateful that we share the ability to do this together.

I know an Undercover Mama who says middle of the night half-awake sex is the best sex you can have. She won’t be in the mood at all before bed – too tired, turned-off, or just plain not into it – but if he wakes her up about an hour after she falls asleep she gets down and dirty, and then goes back to sleep.

I think she’s mad.

Once I am asleep, unless you need are a being who survives by breast milk alone, do not wake me up. My answer to your question of sex has not changed just because I am sleeping peacefully on the other side of the bed. Unconscious or not, the answer is still no!

So, I am completely dumbfounded that after seven years of sleeping in the same bed, Mr. UndertheCovers will still wake me up for some midnight loving. How many times does he need an elbow to the jaw to realize that just isn’t happening? I don’t know if he is having a naughty dream and would like me to participate or he thinks that I won’t know the difference. I myself have had wet dreams and slapped my own hand away. Sleep and sex just do not mix. Period. Speaking of that, I know this blog post sounds super bitchy, and that probably is because I am super bitchy. My baby is nine months old and still no sign of my fertility returning, except that I seem to have a month-long case of PMS. Either that or I am pregnant. And considering this, that would be an awkward conversation.

My baby is cuter than your boyfriend

Several months ago when my littlest darling was fresh off the placenta, I met a newly divorced friend for sushi. I brought my little man with me because he was 1) literally hanging off of my boob every chance he got, 2) I didn’t want Mr. UndertheCovers to have a severe meltdown realizing he now has three kids, and 3) because I loved showing off all less than 10 pounds of him.

My newly divorced friend was also newly sterilized, having decided that one child was enough for her, unlike myself, her fashionably fertile friend. I came to dinner exhausted, dishevelled, but deliriously happy. She came to dinner bright-eyed, put-together, but also deliriously happy.

We talked about the new boys in our lives – mine was dark-haired, blue-eyed, with the softest skin and only 20” tall. Hers was dark-haired, brown-eyed and liked to drink and smoke. We both gushed on about how our men kept us up all night – mine stuck on the boob, hers – elsewhere. Popping a fresh piece of fish in our mouths, we’d throw in random tidbits about our new guys. “He loves it when you tickle him under his arms.” “He loves it when I pinch his nipples.” “His little bum is so soft and squishy.” “His butt is rock hard.” You get the picture.

Leaving the restaurant, I struggled with my car seat in the rain, as she carelessly walked down the street, almost strutting. I realized we were in the most completely different places in life, even though we were both so in love. But, that is the great thing about true friendship – the other could have been bored, unimpressed, even blasé – but we sat there listening intently to the other’s stories, completely enthused over the other’s happiness. It didn’t matter that her man was 32 and mine was 32 days old. Love is love and what better way to spend a night than gushing about love over tuna sashimi.

Hitting a Homerun

Standing provocatively in my short cheerleader outfit, my midriff bare to the sun, I seduce him over to me with just a passing glance.

“Meet you in the showers?” I whisper. His smile says definitely.

“And bring your friend,” I tell him.

“Which one?” he asks, looking back at the football field behind him.

“All of them,” I grin.

Just so you know, this scenario happens, often. In my mind that is. Doing the entire football fantasy is my go-to mind-blower of choice. Thinking about those broad shoulders, husky voices, tight rear-ends, all that ass slapping and that crazy hot aggression drives me wild.

I’ve dated a few football players in my time, and while they look (and sometimes feel) so good, they are usually not that great as boyfriends. That machismo that makes them so tempting also makes them so cunning and virtually unattainable in the commitment department. So, instead of just having or wanting one, I think about having them all. This is a fantasy that I am 99% sure (although I never say never), will never come true.

So while my football playing orgasm-inducers stay locked inside my head, I have found a new and real ultimate fantasy come true: the involved Dad.

I realized this a few years ago while at the splashpad and a very good-looking guy rode up on a bike with his kid on the back. He spent the next hour getting wet running around with his child, laughing and I spent that hour trying to stay dry watching the manliness that was him. In retrospect, I believe I have always been turned-on by the Dad/baby scenario, having had a framed poster of a sexy guy with awesome bulging biceps holding and staring down at a newborn baby hanging over my bed. I have always wanted babies and I have always wanted hot guys, so the two together made a nice composition on my teenage girl wall.

I know I am not alone in this department. Seeing Mr. U with our own children usually is not that huge of a turn-on, I guess because it is his job and mine, and if you’ve seen one poopy diaper being changed, you’ve seen a million (and I have seen a million). I also don’t want to offer him a medal for getting up once at night, when I am up all night. Lack of sleep is not sexy. Ever. But, I’m sure he could easily charm the panties off of some other freak like me, just by walking through the mall wearing our baby in the Baby Bjorn. In fact, shortly after my youngest son was born, we were at the mall and Mr. U was holding our youngest while watching our middle child play in the fountain. A woman with another toddler sat staring fascinated at my man, as if he were in the fountain, naked, gleaming like a Greek God. It took all the strength I could muster not to wipe the drool off of her chin. When I walked out of the store and greeted my family, the devil literally came out of her eyes and punched me in square in the face. She was an involved Dad lover too, so I could not really fault her for loving the thought of my 5 pound newborn in my sexy husband’s arms at the mall of all places.

I’m sure the feeling is one of biology. Women want to make babies with men who will care for their offspring. Throw in six-pack abs or a husky voice and you’ve got tonight’s dinner.

The Undercover Mamas mimic my thoughts. There were a few who did not think the task of being a dad was sexy; heartwarming and sweet, yes, panty removal material, no. Even those other hot dads who were completely engaged with their children, some of the Mamas thought that was too much baggage to be sexy.

But, the ones who thought that an involved Dad was sexy were very exuberant about their answers. The Mamas especially felt that urge down below seeing their partners with their little girls – getting their nails painted, having tea parties and doting over their every need. Other Mamas thought it was hot to see their partners (and other involved dads) coaching their kid’s sports teams.

That brings me to my ultimate fantasy come true. Mr. U recently signed on to be one of the coaches on two of our son’s baseball teams. I was glad that he was being more involved in the kid’s extracurricular lives. But, the moment when I laid eyes on him in that coaches outfit and ball cap, showing some little screaming 3-year-old how to swing a bat, I honestly thought I had never seen him look sexier. I took him home that night and surprised him with some very involved loving of my own. Now, when I need that little extra mind porn to get me over a hump (pun intended) I even sometimes think of him in his ball uniform, and Mr. Brawny football player is standing at the sidelines crying.

I have not let him in on this newfound turn-on of mine though, otherwise he’d be coming to bed every night in that purple get-up of his and it just would never be the same.

A day of Mourning

I’m in mourning. I’m mourning the loss of my husband’s viable sperm.

About five months ago, my extremely sleep-deprived, delirious, and hormonal self asked begged Mr. UndertheCovers to get a vasectomy A.S.A.P. Although I had said after my youngest was born that I’d love another one as sweet as him, albeit with female parts, nevertheless just as sweet, a few months in I realized that I could never do this again. My body, my brain, my love life and my sanity all got together and voted unanimously against another child ever inhabiting my womb again. Nine months of throwing up on command (the baby’s command, not mine), years of not waking up to the peaceful sound of birds, the sorest nipples on the planet, and a husband who needs a crumb-less floor to survive, have all led me to believe a fourth child should just not be in our future plans.

For months I nagged and nagged him to make his appointment, to which he balked, saying he wasn’t sure he wanted to do it. I imagined a 45-year-old me with newborn twins and my nagging turned to full-out screeching. If an accidental pregnancy was going to happen during peri-menopause, it was going to happen to us.

Last Friday Mr. U went to see the doctor, he put his balls on the table, and came home a changed man. He was happy, not feeling too sore and ready to try out the first of the twenty ejaculations he needed to rid himself of his little babymakers. The night before his “surgery”, I asked him if we should do it one last time, just to see if it was meant to be that we have another baby. He laughed hysterically, turned around in the bed and sternly said no. But then he did give me the tempting offer of giving him a blow job instead. My response was similar to his.

Reading his post-op instructions when he got home, I began to panic. The word “sterile” made my heart jump out of my chest and into my uterus. My husband is sterile. He can no longer provide me with the sperm to make those gorgeous, loving and extremely annoying children that he is so good at providing me with. What if I made a mistake and in three years when my youngest is getting ready to go off to kindergarten, I will want another baby? Well, that was precisely my reasoning for doing this NOW. Because I know in three years I will want another newborn to snuggle, another toddler to laugh with, another little being to love more than my own self, and as much as I will want that – I can’t handle it. Not emotionally, physically or mentally. I’m sure I could get by, but I feel like we’ve just gotten by for the last five or so years and I’d like to start living my life getting ahead, not always looking to the future of when my child sleeps through the night, when he stops destroying my house, when he stops screaming because I gave him the wrong cup. I want to enjoy my boys as they are and not wish and want for another. So, last Friday was the first day where I started living for what we have, rather than what we will have. I’ll have to admit though, that when my youngest woke in the night, instead of feeding him and rushing him back to his crib, I let him lay there while I rubbed his head and kissed his tiny hands.

Instead of imagining purchasing little tutus and thinking about names like Ruby and Violet, I looked at my little brood and just watched them play and smile and laugh, and beat the living crap out of each other. I marvelled at how they’ve grown and instead of wondering where the time has gone I thought about all of the years we have ahead of us together. Just the five of us. Well, and the puppy that I now have replaced my baby dreams with. At least the puppy won’t add 40 pounds to my ass or rip me another new one. I think I’ll name her Ruby.

Ode to my little white skirt

I saw you in the store looking oh so longingly at me. You convinced me to buy you in spite of my decision to not buy anything new until I lost a good amount of weight. You were oh so persuasive with your flowing lines and stretchy waist that you would look better on me than my one-size-too-small Lululemon’s or my baggy in the ass Guess velour track suit. Summer is coming, you said.

The next day I ferociously ripped off your tags with wild abandon, anxious to start my transformation from frumpy mummy to summer sex goddess. My day was full with activities, so I did my makeup and hair and stepped out in my little white skirt.

Well little white skirt, you didn’t stand a chance. Forgetting our chairs for soccer, my legs begged me to sit in the soft green grass as my oldest played for an hour and a half in the sweltering sun. I digressed, not wanting to sully up my skirt with green and yellow stains. So I stood, baby in arms, while everyone else around me sat comfortably, but you still looked great little white skirt.

 My next stop didn’t seem like it would have any issues until my middle child had a lovely tantrum in the middle of a store and lifted you for all the world (a young store clerk) to see my tighty nude undies from the rear. But, little white skirt, you stood by me as I angrily berated my poor child in front of the most embarrassed store clerk I’ve ever seen.

Lunch went by and I ate so incredibly daintily. Even the queen could not have eaten a foot long with mustard so regally. But, my little man was not as dainty when he kicked his jar of peaches onto you and later spit up said peaches all over you as well. I have never scrubbed a garment so well.

After lunch I took you outside for a walk as the kids played, innocently riding their scooters and plasma cars up and down the street. That was until they snuck into a neighbour’s ripped up yard, got covered head to toe in mud and then smothered you in it as well. Little. Bastards.

I took you off that night and just looked at you. You were so innocent, so pure, so white and now you are a jumbled mess of mud, puke and peaches. I have put you away until the next time I feel brave enough to let you again be abused or until the next time I feel like I need you to morph out of frumpy mom mode.

Thanks little white skirt.

Until we meet again,

UndertheCovers Mother

Effective discipline

With 5+ years of parenting behind me, I have learned some important rules for keeping discipline in my household. I’ve recently realized that these rules also apply to my sexual relationship. I’ll share the top ten with you.

1)      Consistency – If you mean no, always say no. One yes and you’re fucked. They will always remember that one yes and not the twelve million no’s. My kids know that they are not allowed to have food after dinner if they didn’t finish their dinner. But, one tired night I caved and every single night they ask beg me for an after-dinner snack. Mr. U knows I am not a morning person. You do not talk, cuddle or even look at me until after I’ve eaten my Harvest Crunch and checked facebook. But, that one time I gave in to his advances at 5 am, and now everyday as the sun comes up he starts poking me in the back. Consistency is key.

2)      Bribery – Kids will rarely ever do anything without encouragement, fun or cookies. Lovers are the same. Scratch the cookies and insert oral sex.

3)      Natural consequences – If my child leaves his coat on the ground, my cat will pee on it, thus the child naturally now knows to hang up his coat or smell disgusting all day without my constant badgering. If Mr. U doesn’t help with dinner, leaves all the dishes in the sink and doesn’t get up with the baby on his turn, naturally I will be exhausted and there will be no loving.

4)      Pretend you’re having fun – Although you may be tired, distracted or mind-numbingly bored, always pretend you are having fun playing little army men or with your lover’s little army man.

5)      Tell them what you expect – Don’t just assume your child will know how to behave. You need to model appropriate behaviour and tell them how to act. This goes for your lover as well. How else would he know that dressing up like Raggedy Andy is your ultimate turn-on, unless you’ve told him?

6)      Realize that logic is not their strong suit – Children have a hard time applying the rules of one situation to other situations. I tell my boys they are not allowed to hit one another, but next thing I know one just kicked the other in the head. I need to explain that all acts of violence are not appropriate. After a few drinks I don’t mind a little of the rough stuff myself, but stone sober if Mr. U slaps my ass, he’s bound to get a black eye.

7)      Let them think they did it themselves – Confidence is very important for a child’s self-esteem. Sometimes it is ok to let them win a few or to tell them they did great even when they didn’t. This helps to build their confidence for the next attempt. If your child is struggling with learning how to get dressed and you do up a few buttons or tie a few shoelaces, it will make them feel awesome if you scream “you did it!” anyway. If your lover has been down there for 10 painful minutes and what gets you over the edge is thinking back to that time with you and your ex-burly football player boyfriend on the beach in Cabo, you can still scream “you did it!”, to avoid hurt feelings and continue to build confidence.

8)      Correct important mistakes – Not to contradict #7, but some things need to be corrected. If your daughter wants to be like Daddy and stands to pee, well you’ll just have to show her and insist on the right way. The same principle applies if your lover thinks your clit is at the end of your elbow or he thinks that sliding it between your breasts is fun for you. You must show him the error of his ways or be burdened with this mistake over and over again.

9)      Safety first – Helmets are an important institution of this generation. They protect your child’s most important asset and you can not back down on this one. Similarly, there are two very important safety inventions in the bedroom – lube and birth control. Lube protects your most important assets from chafing and birth control protects your sanity. You must insist on both.

10)   Structure – Every night after dinner my kids get to watch tv shows. If I decide to take away those shows for whatever reason I can expect situation: meltdown. Kids need  structure so they don’t have to guess what comes next and so they know what to expect. If you told your lover he would get lucky that night or if you do it every Saturday night and then suddenly change your mind, you can again expect situation: catastrophe.

I’m not trying to say that men are like children here, but truly, men are like children. Follow these rules and your life could run a lot more smoothly.

The Cure for Everything

Mr. UndertheCovers thinks that sex is the antidote to any fight. In fact, he thinks sex is the antidote to any problem. Headache? Have an orgasm. Tired? Close your eyes and have an orgasm. PMS? Rear entry will alleviate that cramping. Can’t figure out what to wear? Take off all of your clothes, have sex and the answer will come to you. Toothache? Blow jobs are great for toothaches. I won’t even tell you his treatment for hunger. Mr. U has an uncanny knack for orgasming his problems away. There is nothing a good orgasm can’t fix for him.

I, on the other hand, need to have a clear mind to get that mind-blowing feeling. If something is nagging at me, it won’t stop just because a face is in my crotch. That doesn’t mean that after a hard day, letting all that stress wash off of me with some multiples isn’t great. It just takes me a long time to get there. Lately my mind has been a super-spinning cyclone. My thoughts decimate any feelings or emotions that stand in its path. Pleasure – never stood a chance. Pain – no time for pain. Fear, sadness or anger – totally wiped off the map.

With a baby going on his third week of pneumonia, a life-changing decision in the works that is going to lead me both to a good and a bad place, and all the other millions of things on my own honey-do list, I am surprised I had time to write this blog entry. But, there is a cure for that, Mr. U would say. What better way to diminish stress than to release it from the tips of my toes to the top of my head? So I oblige, knowing that this will work for him and at least one of us will feel less stressed.  And as he is kissing my neck I am replaying the events of my day; as he is fondling my thigh I am wondering if my littlest one is breathing ok; and as he is removing my shirt I am working on a plan to go back in time and not screw up some of the things in my life.

In the end, things did work out ok for me. My mind cleared for those crucial few seconds and everyone was happier for it. I am just hoping the same thing happens in my life. Maybe “the cure: will work. Should I try it?