With the arrival of our first born, the husband-now-father and wife-now-mother became so busy taking turns peering at the baby that we had forgotten to look at each other.
My libido stayed dead. We tried to rev up the engine — dimmed the lights and put on the music. But nothing could turn me on. This was a rare phenomenon in our three and half year marriage. Not that my daughter didn’t bring joy. She is a dream baby, adorable and happy. But I hold the unpopular opinion that having a baby doesn’t necessarily bind a couple together in the way our romantic notion of family would have us believe. I don’t mean to grumble; I love babies. I can't get enough of my baby. The tiny toes, the soft cheeks, and the hours spent nursing. We didn’t need anyone else, not even my hubby!
Breast-feeding, of course, was the root of my libido problem. Books explained how the hormones that made me produce milk were also shutting down my sex drive. But who would explain that to poor hubby. It was the biology at work. It took me a while to connect his peevishness with my libido problem, but once I figured it out, it made sense. He felt rejected, and it made him mad. I read books… they suggest the same stuff: dress up, buy sexy lingerie. Now, how could lingerie counteract my own body’s chemistry?
I felt guilty that I no longer turned to my loving husband in the middle of the night. I decided to take things in my hands. So, one fine night, I put the baby to sleep early. I coaxed my hubby to cook dinner alongside me, and we held each other’s hands while we ate. I could already feel the connection between us. The glint in his eyes said it all.
Afterwards, my head resting on his shoulders, I thought. I was still sexy and spontaneous! Yet I knew none of this would have happened if I hadn’t taken the initiative. I thought of my daughter— the tiny toes and dimple in her cheek.
Maybe I had enough love for both of them.