Off Duty Mom

Thoughts from an exhausted mom who is NEVER really "off duty"

Archive for the tag “sex”

Mother’s Day Series #1

Guest Post

by:  Anonymous Blogger

 

“I Hope My Mom Never Knows…”

It rained in October and where I live this in itself is not unusual.  But, it felt like it had been raining ever since forever ago started.

I was 19 and bored.  I had no good reason to be, mind you, since I was into my 2nd year of college at a fairly prestigious university my parents were all too quick to brag had accepted me just two rainy fall seasons ago.

My girlfriends and I bundled up into cozy cable-knit sweaters and decided to go shopping in one of the trendier sections of our city’s downtown area to relieve our doldrums.

We wandered into a small boutique that had a mysterious “back room.”  The boutique itself was rather pretty and had lots of things that were pink.  Mostly comprised of high-end lingerie, we weren’t off-put either by the salesclerk (who was an ordinary 30-something woman with curly hair and a satin blazer over expertly-ripped jeans) or by the products.  Everything seemed to be on the up-and-up.

My friend, Jasmine (no, not her real name, but a moniker she actually did adopt later that day), was very feminine and was drawn in the front door by a pretty crystal necklace and full-length satin robe-thinga-ma-jig that was hanging in the window.  When we looked around the store, though, we didn’t see the necklace anywhere.

Jasmine asked the clerk who smiled and let her know that it wasn’t actually a necklace, but was really a belly chain.  It was the 90s and this alone wasn’t terribly weird, though I had never seen a belly chain that ornate.

The clerk invited us to see the “other” merchandise in the back room and we thought what you are probably thinking:  there’s sex toys and weird crap back there.

There actually wasn’t.

Instead, there was a slew of rather risque, but altogether uncreepy, Middle Eastern garb fit for what we assumed (and we were right) were bellydancers.

The city where our school was located is known for being somewhat conservative.  I mean, it wasn’t too conservative to have a lingerie store right on a main street, but it was a little too conservative to openly cater to clientelle who were interested in objectifying women in a way that was historically relevant but altogether insensitive to the more modern sensibilities of Middle Eastern culture.

It turns out that this was something of a costume shop that catered to fetishists interested in involving themselves in ancient “art” and was THE place where the bellydancers outfitted themselves for their gigs at the local Egyptian hookah bar and restaurant.

Now, none of us knew that this place had bellydancing.  This is because it was an…unadvertised service.

Jasmine and I over the course of just a matter of maybe 20 minutes found ourselves signing up to perform at what later became a strip show disguised as a “cultural event.”  What cultural event takes place in the basement of a bar and grille, I will never know but it all sounded very unboring at the time.

Jasmine and I performed together a very amateurish strip show where we went full-monty in a room full of middle-aged foreign business travelers.  There was no pole in the room and no stage, but there were interesting things done with finger cymbals.

Thank god there was no such thing as camera phones and Twitter.

I am not entirely embarrassed by this totally out-of-character foray into the seedy underbelly (ha!  see what I did there?) of exotic dance.  But, my mom would fucking murder me if she ever knew about this.

I swear I became a totally normal adult with two Master’s Degrees and 4 kids.  I have a good job and this has somehow not come back to bite me in my now very jiggly ass.

Yet.

Don’t tell my mom, though, K?

Happy Mother’s Day.

 

I don’t care how your vagina looks

Why is the Brazilian Bikini Wax even a thing?

I mean, honestly, why is it sexy to leaf through Playboy and ogle women who are adults from the belly-button up, but are 9-year olds from the shorn labia down?

I suppose I understand the arguments one might make about staying appropriately groomed for swimwear and…well…that’s actually the only argument I can think I might understand.  But, I am a little wierded out by the long-running trend that glorifies having a stranger toss your ankles in the air, stick her face near your C-U-Next-Tuesday, and forcibly tear out your pubic hair by the root en masse.

What is the male equivalent of this phenomena?  What do our gentlemen friends have to do stay sexy?  Um, get a job?  Not wear Wife-beaters?  Take out the garbage?  Kill spiders?  Steer clear of Crocs, skinny jeans, and pleated khakis?

And, pray tell, why are we as a society — a WORLD society — so preoccupied with private orifices?

For example…

–How did Vaginal Rejuvenation surgery come to be?  After children, no woman’s lady parts look like blossoming lotus flowers anymore.  That’s life.  Whatevs.

–Who invented Anal Bleaching?  Has anyone ever seen an anus that needed to be bleached?  I don’t understand.  Is it…um…dirty…so the process is like bleaching your kid’s socks after he played flag football in the yard without shoes, or is it a skin color issue and a matter of the monstrous impact of white-normed culture that is the culprit here?

–Did you know that you can get your hymen restitched?  In some parts of the world, it is critical that a woman be a virgin upon marriage.  So, in case you said “fuck you” to that tradition and now have some Buyer’s Remorse, or if you accidentally jogged and opened your hymen (as is the case, apparently for most women — hymens split through natural means), you can recreate the illusion of childhood-fresh vagina-dom with Hymen Repair surgery.  Wow.

–If you don’t like how large, small, or misshapen your clitoris is, you can change that, too, through specialized plastic surgery.  Now, really.  I understand women who have suffered through Female Genital Mutilation, but I wonder how many people, statistically, have this surgery for vanity’s sake.  I don’t mean to judge, but I actually wonder why our society puts so much pressure on appearance that women feel the need to adjust this (normally) hidden part of their bodies.

–Men aren’t totally immune to this, either, though their options are more limited and the number of men who partake is grossly smaller.  There are numerous schemes, pills, devices, surgeries and home remedies to help men enlarge their penises, though.  (Is that correct?  penises?  Might it be peni?  I have never had much use for plural penises [hee hee — that’s what she said]).  There are also options for men who want to tighten their ball skin to reduce sag and options for men to be circumcised as adults.  Ouch.  While the former may be for vanity (but may more often be to improve sexual function or prowess) the latter, I assume, is more often performed for medical reasons to relieve discomfort.  These are not just to make them more attractive.

Look:  I believe in freedom.  Have yourselves waxed, dyed, plucked, primped, tanned, pedicured, shaved, implanted, lifted, Botoxed, reshaped, liposucked, dieted, styled and glossed if, when, and how you want.

But, don’t be surprised when the phenomena into which you fall becomes the topic of a post from your friendly neighborhood blogger as she rants about cultural obsessions with human undercarriage.

All I wonder is this:  have we gone too far?

At what point will humankind ever just be satisfied with things as they are?  At what point will people begin to accept one another?  When might we begin to see and celebrate uniqueness instead of trying to rip, tear, pluck and reconstruct into some weirdly agreed-upon ideal?  When do we start to love and accept one another BECAUSE of, not IN SPITE of our differences?

I imagine that will happen…um…never.

I blame video games.  And gun violence.  And Global Warming.  And President Bush.  Either one.  It doesn’t really matter.

What say you?  Feel like dabbling in some anal bleaching or hymen reconstruction yourself?  Want to recommend ball tightening to someone?  Ever seen a clitoris that really needed a makeover?  I would love to know about the circumstances.  I am all ears (actually, if I were, in fact, ALL ears, would I have to get plastic surgery on them to be pretty?).

I look forward to your comments.

 

Sex Sells

I have been feeling unmotivated lately.

I’ve not posted here in a while because I (for once) haven’t had much to say.  This is pretty unusual for me in general.  I typically do not shut up.  Like, ever.

So, instead of trying to force it here, I thought I would just make a post that we can all enjoy…

Here you go.

Historic movie eye candy.kevin

You’re welcome.taye2

brad carypaulgeorgejamesmarlondaniel     leo  mattwillsean patrick

The best unlaid plans

GUEST POST by

“Mom of Twins”

You are told, “if you kiss a boy, you will get pregnant.” You go through life doing the right things and following the right path: graduate high school, graduate college, get a real job, find a worthy man, marry that worthy man, and then want to start a family.

Well that is pretty much how it happened for us. I always talked about having kids and my husband made me promise to give him a year before we started a family in order to be able to do what we want: spontaneous weekends, dinner parties with friends, and sleeping in! Well, that year went by and (actually it was three years) then my husband came to me and said he was ready.

Hmmmm. I wasn’t sure I was ready.

I liked the life we had built. So we let another year or so go by. So now we were finally on the same page and we ready to go. Here comes the fun part of having a baby. Ready, set, go……..

We tried and tried and tried. Was there something wrong? This started my emotional roller coaster with the standard first step: a magic little pill called Clomid. A few months of this magic pill and still nothing. I think I may have gotten the pills without the magic.

Then the next step was to have a hysterosalpingogram.

A what????

It is a procedure where they shoot dye up your vagina to evaluate if your female parts are open. Yup, mine are all open.

While you are popping drugs and undergoing procedures, people are suggesting you relax, don’t think about it, and it will happen. How could I do that when most mornings I got to pee on a stick to monitor if I was ovulating? It is not as easy as one may think. There is always that morning where the stick starts to change colors, but it doesn’t change all the way. Then you have to make a decision: sex or no sex? Am I ovulating or not? I am indecisive by nature and now I have to make a decision whether or not the color has changed on my stick. What if I make the wrong choice and waste grade A sperm (that has been saved up the last couple of days) and make the wrong decision?

The pills and the magic sticks were the first steps toward our sex lives becoming a job, and this was only the beginning. Of course every time we had to have sex was when I really had no desire or we were exhausted. It became more of a chore and not a spontaneous act between two people who loved each other. That is when we coined the term “quick poke” which was also known as a “QP.” I will admit there were times when after our “QP” I often found myself going to sleep with pillows under my pelvis to help those poor little sperm swim toward my very wanting uterus.

After about two years of scheduled sex, pill popping, and peeing on sticks, I made a conscious decision to switch fertility doctors. This was hard because I really liked my doctor and her staff, but there was something I disagreed with her about. I had a feeling that I had endometriosis and that was a possibility for us not getting pregnant. My doctor felt that it was possible; however she did not believe that if I had endometriosis it would lessen my chances of getting pregnant. I had this “gut” feeling which started the thought of maybe I should switch doctors.

Shortly after meeting with a new fertility specialist, I had laparoscopic surgery for my endometriosis. It turned out that I had a moderately high percent of it. Well OK then….now those little swimmers will be able to finally stick to my uterus. I am all cleaned out and I felt like this could be a new beginning. I bought a new box of sticks and my husband and I got back on the scheduled sex train.

After another three or four months of not getting pregnant with just the usual sex and ovulation sticks, we decided to advance on the “you are not pregnant yet” schematic. Next were the injectables and IUIs. My mind was spinning between what drugs to take, how much of that drug to take, when my appointments were, and of course when we should and should not have sex. But we thought that of course this is going to work now that we are taking my husband’s sperm and “cleaning it up” and turkey basting it into me.

After months and months and a large sum of money (I can’t even think about it) we had our last consult with our doctor. We had a decision whether or not to take our last step on the infertility schematic or go toward a different option and adopt.

When I would get my period, I had a “heads up.” I wouldn’t feel good: I was crampy, and I was eating everything in sight. The hard thing was not getting my period; it was having to tell my husband I got it. Even though I knew it was not my fault, some how I could not help but to feel like I did something wrong, again. At this point I was physically and mentally tapped out. I could not do this any more.

We took a few months off and revised our plan to have a family. We decided we were going to adopt. We felt refreshed because even though this may be a long process, there was going to be a baby at the end. We wanted to do our homework to become more educated. So we went to some open houses at three different adoption agencies. We talked with people and listened to their adoption stories. We were becoming more and more educated about the process and more excited about this different adventure.

Until we were at our last meeting with an adoption counselor and she asked if we ever considered adopting an embryo.

Adopting an embryo? What’s that?

And that is when the spark to get pregnant started all over again. Through this entire process, I always wished that I could go through the process of being pregnant. We figured there is no reason I should have never gotten pregnant. We were always told we both had good “stuff” (sperm and eggs).

We decided to try the one last thing that was recommended. So after months of being off fertility drugs and having an emotional vacation from all the drugs we decided to try IVF. We packed our bags and took a trip to The Cleveland Clinic for our procedure. It was the best experience. They extracted seven viable eggs. The embryologist placed my husband’s grade A sperm and BAM, we had seven embryos. For three days the embryologists would call us and let us know how “they” were progressing and how many cells had divided. Could this possibly work? After those three days, the doctor placed two embryos in my uterus. We had to wait one and half weeks and I went to the doctor for a pregnancy test. My husband surprised me and took the day off from work. I got the phone call from the clinic the next day. We were pregnant.

After all the emotions, the money, and the heartache we have an instant family. We now have beautiful, healthy boy/girl twins. We could not have planned that better.

Free speech, bad taste or criminal tendencies?

 

In a recent post, we discussed our disgust with a thread in which military personnel (or readers of a US military [we think] online publication) advocated violence and rape of women.  Read about the issue here.

Thanks to a wonderful reader, we have updated the information with a call to action as well.

I also appreciate all of the individuals who sent messages or left comments on the blog about the issues this raises.  I am still surprised and dismayed that this thread and ones like it are continuing and individuals associated with the defenders of our country are so openly advocating murder, rape, coerced oral sex, and racist hatred of ethnic and religious groups.

But, I am, at the end of the day, in favor of free speech.  I suppose that these individuals have fought to defend my freedom to say that they are uneducated, weak-minded fucktards.  I am troubled that they’ve also defended their own freedom to advocate secretly taping sexual encounters to be used as “evidence” to counterattack potential claims of rape.

I would be interested in hearing about your thoughts on this matter.  Weigh in here in our comments section and don’t forget to “like” us on Facebook where many of these conversations continue.

It won’t always be this way

In high school, they make you take health classes where they explain to you that you should just hold hands with your studly quarterback boyfriend because if y’all get naked and even think about doing the hibity-jibity, you will most certainly get pregnant and have babies and you’ll never get voted to be Prom Queen in a maternity gown from “Hoebags-R-Us.”

All of the scientific evidence, they say, leads us logically to conclude that even dry-humping might let an accidental sperm swim his little flagella-wiggling ass off on its desperate course to your eager-to-breed uterus.

Then, you become a responsible adult who actually wants to start a family and you quickly learn that it ain’t as easy to make a baby as it was always supposed to be.

Of course, there is no lack of irresponsible young people all over the damn place procreating and creating unplanned pregnancies in droves. That makes things worse as you might then wonder why the FUCK God, Zeus, Shiva, Jupiter or whoever is in charge of the universe would choose to entrust a 17-year old heroin addict with a tiny, precious human life and would opt to keep a loving, reliable, financially stable and healthy couple from starting a family.

Infertility blows chunks. And, according to the CDC, 6.7 MILLION women aged 15-44 suffer from impaired fertility in the US. That’s just a little more than 10% of the female population of this country. That’s a whole lot of blown chunks.

Incidentally, men contribute to infertility issues as well, with about 30% of reported cases of infertility being caused by male deficiencies, says Canadian group, CGICM. Overall, too, causes of fertility are completely unknown or unexplainable in about a quarter of all cases. That means one in four couples will not ever know why it is that, after repeated trying, measuring Basal body temps, predicting ovulation and doin’ it every other day like it’s a job, they STILL cannot get pregnant.

And those responsible, adult, stable couples who try so long to get pregnant doing all of the right things and by reducing their love lives to a regulated, charted chore of boot-knockin’ will ultimately have at least one friend who advocates heartily for good, Catholic family planning methodology that entails regular prayer and then shagging during the appropriate times of the month. To make matters worse, those motherfuckers will be on kid #4 while you sit in a waiting room hoping to get a prescription of Clomid and a super-fun test involving uterine scraping.

Infertility (which sounds to me like its definition must mean that someone is absolutely incapable of producing offspring,) is, by definition, what you are if you have “tried” for a year and weren’t magically graced with a little pea in your pod. If, in that time, you have been using no prophylaxes and haven’t miraculously put a bun in the oven, you are supposed to discuss your sexual history and habits, and your husband’s choice of underwear with your doctor. You may be infertile if you’re doing everything right and can’t make a baby. Really? Thanks, WebMD. Go fuck yourself.

Infertility occurs, then, when you are having an obstacle to getting pregnant. It doesn’t mean you’re barren. But you might be! Again, WebMD: you’re a bitch.

Then, even if you are able to get pregnant after you’ve been poked and prodded and made into a science experiment, that’s no guarantee of anything. Just giving it to you straight, ya know. I miscarried after three years of trying to get pregnant. It was the single most devastating thing that has ever happened to me. It is, quite literally, the absolute worst thing just about — ever. And, the nurse calling me to tell me, “Honey, this is great news. We know you CAN get pregnant now,” didn’t really help at the time, though her sentiment was heartfelt, true and was genuinely meant to help me keep my eye on the prize.

A few months later, I was able to become pregnant and carry that beautiful boy to term. He’s at the bar right now with my husband watching football. ‘Cuz we’re classy. And, he’s four now, so it’s totally cool for him to watch Disney Junior on the mini-TV in the booth at the local pub while dad watches the big screen in the corner. We also have a 1-year old who is asleep right now. I am listening to the sound of his breathing through the monitor and I am reminded of how lucky I am and how beautiful life can be. Seven years ago, I thought life kinda sucked and that the universe hated me. Things do happen as they’re meant to, I suppose. But, that is absolutely no consolation for anyone who is currently in the “life sucks” phase of the journey.

I try to remember now that if I hadn’t miscarried in 2007, I wouldn’t have the kids I have now. My life course would have been very different. And, that seems more tragic than the original tragedy seemed at the time.

When I had my first child, then, I attended meetings for new moms and we talked about how to cope with the struggles of motherhood (and there are many). I didn’t know if I had the right, at the time, to complain that things were hard as a new mother, but they indeed were – as any of you with children must know. But, a woman once said that she had adopted a mantra: “It won’t always be this way,” and I have found myself thinking of how amazing that is almost every day.

If you’re currently going through a fertility struggle, remember, “It won’t always be this way.”

If you are struggling with illness, depression, family problems, financial difficulties or other obstacles, keep in mind that “It won’t always be this way.”

If you’re a new parent and you’re sleep-deprived and sad and overwhelmed, just know that “It won’t always be this way.”

If you’re a new parent and it seems impossible to be a breadwinner AND the appropriate support at home, remember that “It won’t always be this way.”

If you’re the parent of a child who is having problems, know in your heart, “It won’t always be this way.”

And, if your life is amazing and you have no complaints and that fucking rhythm method worked for you and you are getting everything you want and you’re wealthy and everything is just perfect, please know, “It won’t always be this way.”

And in those moments when you are holding your little, tiny baby, swaddled in your arms, smelling of lavender after a bath, and you’re crying both from the joy of the moment and from the fact that you’ve slept a total of 4 hours in the past 3 days, just think about how “It won’t always be this way.”

**If you’ve got a story you’d like to tell, ODM is currently seeking guest posts for a series on fertility to be published later this year. Please check out the “guest posting” page to learn how you can tell us your story.

Frustrating Fantasies (the experience of a devoted wife and mother)

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A few years ago, I struggled through some dark moments and found myself having trouble feeling “normal.” A therapist suggested that I try to “escape” my life by trying to imagine myself involved with very “normal” women’s fantasies.

Because I am ridonkulously uptight, I immediately laughed at her. “I’m not gonna do that,” I told her.

That’s just not how I roll.

I didn’t see at all how trying to imagine canoodling with David Beckham was going to snap me out of my gloomy shit.

In the time that has passed since, I’ve learned that fantasies in many people with good marriages and happy families don’t work well. I’ll be interested to hear if anyone else experiences anything resembling the following…

Okay. Here we go. Let’s think. Alright. Tom Cruise? Too short. Brad Pitt? Forgets to shower and/or shave sometimes. Channing Tatum? Maybe. No, I’d never be with a stripper.

This isn’t off to a good start.

Alright. Someone I know in real life? Tod from work? He’s actually pretty douchey. Why the fuck doesn’t he use the other “d”? Did I respond to his last e-mail? The boss really needs those TPS reports. Crap. Fantasy. Right.

Okay. Right. Ryan Gosling. On Pinterest I saw a quote with him saying “Hey, girl,” then saying something cheeky about girls with stellar crafting abilities. I always wanted to be appreciated for my fantabulous use of a glue gun. I am an effing beast with some Mod Podge. Okay, Ryan Gosling it is.

So, here we go. We meet at, um, a bar? Yeah, a bar.

Where is my husband? I’m not a whore. He’s got to be dead or something. I’d never cheat on him. Yeah. So, I am a beautiful widow.

>sniff< That’s so sad. What happened to my husband?

What if thinking about him being dead so I can have sex with Ryan Gosling will stir up bad karma and will make him die in a fiery crash in real life?

This SUCKS.

But, okay. I can do this. I can be normal.

Ryan Gosling. Whatever. In this make-believe world, I never met my husband.

That would be really sad.

Ugh!

Ryan Gosling.

He buys me one of those drinks with the orange peel in it. We go back to his place and he tells me he can do the Dirty Dancing lift. Awesome. That would totally work, you know.

I am way too heavy, though, I am sure. Maybe I should stay on the ground. I am way too fat to be lifted.

So, okay. We’re on the ground. He reaches out for me. No! Not the ass. Great. Ryan Gosling is going to know about my cellulite. No, not there either! Jesus. Just touch my forearm, Ryan Gosling.

So, we are standing in Ryan Gosling’s house and he is touching my arm. This is nice.

Wait.

Where are my kids? If I never met my husband, I will live forever in a world without my beautiful babies! That is awful!

Fuck.

Okay, it’s just pretend. Ryan Gosling. Forearm. Orange peel. Got it.

Do we kiss? Is my breath okay? Did I get drunk? That’s so irresponsible. I am 35. Stop acting like a 22-year old hooker!

Ugh.

Okay. Gosling. Arm. Orange.

In the movies, people are always sweeping shit off of a desk or table or something. Maybe he does that in a fit of passion.

What a mess. Don’t people value their belongings? If you’re just going to throw crap around why did you even buy it?

So, no sweeping.

Up against a wall. Yeah. They do that in the movies, too. So, I guess I have to be wearing a flowy dress, because that just seems right. It probably has flowers on it and, maybe it’s purple. Ooh, maybe with no kids and no husband I was able to afford those fabulous strappy Manolos. And, my hair is all wavy and perfect without hairspray in it or anything. And “Take My Breath Away” is probably playing. Or something. Whatever.

Ryan Gosling. He clearly loves me. This isn’t physical. We are going to have a spiritual experience. A beautiful moment in time. With good lighting so he can’t see the crow’s feet.

He reaches up my dress. No, that won’t work. How’s he gonna maneuver around those Spanx?

Aaaaaaarrrrrggghhh!

Hee hee. Remember when that cartoon Cathy used to say that? She was funny.

I can do this. Just be normal, you damn psycho.

So, The Gos. Arm. Peel.

“Arm peel?” That sounds gross.

What time is it? My fucking kids are going to be jumping on top of me by 6:30. I have to get some sleep.

Abort mission.

Who needs normal, anyway?

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