Sure, pregnancy is a transformative and miraculous time. Everyone knows that. But for me, it's also a time when beer smells like pee and Nutrasweet tastes like rust, when you've learned how to lift the toilet lid, put your hair in a scrunchy, remove your glasses and puke in under 20 seconds. In my first trimester, my no-touch zone started at my chin. And hit earth.Attractive? If you have a kind partner, like I do, he or she will tell you that you are attractive. He or she will be lying. But it doesn't matter. That's not the point. The point is, in the first few months, many women, even Scorpios like myself, do not even remotely feel like doing it. Sex becomes as foreign a concept as compassion is to Mike Harris.
One night in those early weeks I remember looking at my sleeping lover, feeling a great swell of love for her forbearance with me -- the fact that she never complained or pushed me to go beyond what was comfortable or possible. And one very clear thought insinuated itself into my hormone-addled, sleep-deprived, upchuck-shook-up, nutrient-famished brain: "You did this to me!" (And don't think just because she's woman it means she's not responsible. I know whose hands were on that syringe!)
Thankfully, in the second trimester Lady Libido spread her wings over our house and descended delicately back into our lives. She began by drifting into my dreams. They were vivid and charged with the kind of painfully insistent sexuality I remember from my teen years. They were populated with exotic strangers and underwater exploits. I would wake flushed in a way I hadn't felt in months, maybe years, maybe never. Where the hell had I been all this time?! Look who was right in front of me, mine for the taking!
The first time back from the long cold gulag of Trimester One did feel very much like a "first time." It was frantic, desperate, a great shock, a powerful secret -- and over really fast.
I cried my first non-hormonal cry in weeks. I was suddenly so aware of how I needed to connect with my partner, to find this way of sharing what was going on in and for me. To be the same wild ones we are together, now shifting and changing in totally fresh ways -- a harbinger of our new life together.
But now new challenges arise. What do I do with these gi-normous and ever ballooning sci-fi breasts? My nipples have become big, dark bull's-eyes. They attract more attention than ever before, and continually surprise me with the sharpness of their sensation.
Sometimes I even feel defensive for my old breasts, the small pink ones, now a fading memory in the key of B- cup. "Hey," I think, "those little champagne glasses were sexy, too, weren't they?" But then the new heavy-duty breasts respond with a shock that rocks me like a full-body wave, and I forget to advocate for bouncy ounces any more.
And how do I protect this burgeoning belly that is hard as a rock but is not a rock, no, it's part of me, and doesn't appreciate pressure, elbows or jiggling? It insists on insinuating itself into the most precarious of moments. Mind you, sometimes a perfectly timed kick from the little one can help add an extra-special zing to a well placed body part.
One thing is for sure: the words "top" and "bottom" have taken on new meaning. You may be in the mood to be an aggressor in the sack but not be able to manipulate yourself into anything but the most passive of supine postures. And vice versa: you may want to be taken in a bodice-ripping moment of submission, but on that day your heartburn might be so bad that you basically have to remain standing, with the most correct chiropractic alignment possible.
Oddly, the bigger I get, the more I want to do it. And I'm not the only one.
A friend told me about the women with whom she shared a long hospital stay in the last few weeks of her delicate and difficult pregnancy. One dreary day they all got to talking about sex.
Some were not into it at all. Some felt dirty, looking at their huge wiggling bellies and feeling ashamed about how this happened to them. Some were libidinous wonderwomen craving the next moment when their stud would arrive and they could close the curtain for a conjugal visit.
And one woman who was carrying twins discovered a neat little trick. If she sat up at just the right angle, the weight of her belly rolling forward would make her climax. Just like that. It was an incredible discovery, and once she found it, she did it. A lot.
Now that's nature's way of creating balance, justice and harmony.