Finding time to caboodle is difficult enough when you’re in a long-term relationship, let alone when you’re a parent with curious little humans constantly toddling around the house. Unless you have an incredible lock on your door, finding time to get away from your kids and engage in sexy-time is pretty much a perpetual covert operation.
Irish blogger and mother of two, Emma Lou Harris (not to be confused with American singer Emmy Lou Harris), recently discovered just how much a couple’s erotic life is can be altered when there are kids in the household — and how things can do hilariously awry pretty quickly.
Harris made moms everywhere groan in sympathy when she shared a Facebook post in which she described how she and her husband recently attempted to have sex after their kids had gone to bed.
The whole thing started out promising enough — after a few beers, Joe and Emma were in the throes of passion, temporarily oblivious to their parental responsibilities.
I’d had two full beers that night and Joe had emptied the dishwasher without having to be asked.
I knew right then and there it was game on. Pants. Off!
We shipped the kids to bed as quick as lightening and the very moment they slipped into a slumber, Mission slipping into other things commences for us as we hopped on straight down to sexy town.
Things were getting heated.
We were just getting to the bit of the act about half way through where you actually consider going professional and you wonder why you ain’t teaching these kinda moves on some sort of intense weekend course for beginners.
Unfortunately, the mood was, um, kind of broken …
There was nails digging and hair pulling and and headboards knocking and we were JUST about to be reminded whyyyyyyyyy the HELL I ever put up with this bollox leaving his crap all over the house when suddenly,
Needless to say, the jarring presence of a toddler’s voice immediately killed the mood.
My panic sweat glands jump into emergency mode busting open like a military operation and my vagina zips itself up to my back immediately before I’ve even had a chance to turn my head.
I look up to see a moving smudge of colour in a ‘my little pony’ night gown rubbing its eyes and whinging.
I pray to the baby Jesus that we have a poltergeist and I also pray it’s legally blind.
My vision is blurred with both the sheer fright and with truth tears over fears of who I’ll find behind the blur of doom.
I knew the answer.
Unfortunately, Joe and his penis were both a tad shocked by the interruption.
In that same split second I hear a small girl scream . It’s Joe, it was the noise accompanied by him leaping off me higher than a kangaroo hurdler while very nearly giving himself a home circumcision from the ceiling fan in the process.
I watched him, almost in slow motion fly through the air in panic , the anaconda swerving all over the place threatening to strangle me to death in the act.
Seriously, the thing nearly slapped me in the face and blackened the eyes off me on it’s jump up there.
Frankie, Emma’s daughter, had apparently wandered into the bedroom, unbeknownst to her parents.
I sit up in a rush, my arse is still lingering up at my throat where it jumped and hid at the first “m” of “mammy”. My hair is looking like I’ve just had the misfortune of science project exploding in my face. Joe is huddled in the corner of the room under a white duvet, rocking back and forth like he’s going through an exorcism all the while muttering pleads to Jesus under his breathe that this isn’t happening.
After another few blinks my vision becomes clear and I see it’s Frankie, my poor poor misfortunate child. She’s standing at the side of our bed. For how long?
Who fucking knowsssss!!!
She’s rubbing her eyes and momentarily I consider the fact that she may actually be trying to scratch them out.
She tells me she’s lost her soother in her bed and she needs me to look for it.
She wanders into her room and says nothing.
Puts her soother in and goes back to sleep while me and Joe stay awake all night staring at the ceiling and speak not one word to each other.
To her credit, Frankie played it cool and didn’t mention finding her parents in a compromising position — although now Emma wonders if perhaps she irreparably scarred her for life, somehow.
I don’t know what she saw that night.
I can’t say for definite if she saw too much or if she saw anything at all.
All I know is, if in the future, My poor poor innocent child ever comes to me and tells me she remembers a very vivid dream where two large warthogs were trying to give each other a hoosh over a wall or that two friggin tapers where playing an aggressive game of twister, well, I guess I’ll have my answer.
One thing’s for sure: even if Frankie wasn’t emotionally traumatized by the incident, her mom and dad definitely were.
Myself and Joe are due to finish our Trauma Counselling sometime in the year 2045.
Perhaps this would be a good time to look into a lock for the bedroom door? Just a thought.