Clearly I have it on the brain. I need to blog about drive. All I can think about is.... Sex drive. Call me randy? Come on I know you have it. It is in there somewhere. I know some of you might feel robbed of it. You have little people and, bang, just like that the drive is gone.
I had the little people, and I had no sex drive. It came back momentarily when I wanted another baby. Why would I have any kind of drive? I had little people pulling at me all day. I could not go to the toilet on my own, have a shower, even go to the letterbox. There was always a little shadow. I did not want anyone to touch me after my children went to bed. My buttons were all pushed in. And don't get me started on the time. Give me a 30 hour day, and maybe, just maybe then we can start talking about sex. Maybe.
I had no sleep. Both my little people were horrid sleepers. Not sure what made them bad sleepers (besides the fact their mummies buttons had no more room to move); they were both not sleeping through the night, when every other child their age was. (Mother of the year alarm). I was tired. I was more than tired, I was exhausted. I had stretch marks, extra bits, and boobs that did not look like my boobs. They were not mine, they were my daughters, and then, they were my sons. They were far from sexy, so far in fact I felt like a jersey cow. They were their milk jugs. And then they deflated, and kind of went south with the rest of my body.
No sex appeal. I was on the south coast drive.
Now a single mother, approaching my mid 30s with two little people, there is something driving me. I am not too sure if it is the little guy that lives inside me that revs my engine, and helps put me into first gear, or if it is the fact I am at the age of sexual peak. I am still tired. I am still exhausted at times, and I still have my buttons pushed. I still have that little shadow with me. I still go to the toilet with an audience. And now I drink more coffee, and wine then I ever have.
But I have it. I have the drive. The sex drive. I have it enough to at least talk about it.
Why? I am not sure if I know the answer. I would be guessing, and my guess would be either the fact I accept all of me. I accept the body I now have. The extra bits, stretch marks, and the boobs that are deflated and hang south. I accept that I will be tired. I accept that I need coffee to get me through the day, and the wine in the evening to congratulate myself for getting through the day. Or maybe it is that peak that women are meant to have. Or maybe I found the 30 hour day.
Did you get your drive back? Or are you still sitting in the backseat in between the little people?