ONE
CHRISSY
Right there.God, yes!
It’s beenwaytoo long since I’ve had a decent orgasm.
I owe myself this, um,self-caresession of epic proportions.
Just one…more...second... I’msoclose.
“MOM!” a little voice yells from outside my bedroom door.
Aaaand it’s gone. This can’t be happening.
What happened to giving me a break, Chance? What happened to watching the kids for tenfuckingminutes,Chance?
“Mommy?” the voice tries again, quieter this time. I sigh, about to get up to see what he needs that only Mom can solve. Let me guess…
His sippy cup is only half full and he can’t drink from it unless it’s exactly two-thirds full?
Maybe his chicken nuggets are too dinosaur-shaped.
Or his cheese isn’t yellow enough?
Somehow these are all problems I’ve had to deal with in the past week, and they were all problems that the little bastards insisted Daddy couldn’t solve, Mom only. Ugh. Even the voice in my head sounds sarcastic and bitter. I’m not always so bitter, especially not toward my own children, but it’s been… tough lately. Having kids is ahoot, y’all.
“Preston!” I hear my husband whisper-hiss, likely while he grabs our second youngest and carries him away. I relax back down onto the mound of pillows and listen to be sure he has it under control.
“Remember what I told you?Mamíis resting, we can’t wake her up. Come here, buddy.”
His voice grows quieter as he moves farther down the hallway, back to the kids’ playroom, and I hear the door close over Preston’s murmured response.
I sigh. Like it isn’t hard enough to find time for us tobe together, now I can’t even find five minutes to handle my own needs in between cartoons, clean-ups, and playdates? Not to mention, you know, my own work and career andlife. Not that I have much of one anymore. That’s kind of how it goes when you have four kids under the age of ten.
Not that I’m complaining. They’re the loves of my life. But sometimes I missme.And I definitely miss spending one-on-one time with Chance.
Okay, so maybe I am complainingjust a little. But bear with me.
Well, if I can’t get time with my husband, at least I can clock in an O or two with my favorite vibrator, whom I have lovingly dubbed Ranger, after one of my favorite book boyfriends. He always gets the job done, he’s tactical, precise, and never fails to accomplish his mission objectives.Operation Long-Overdue-O is back underway.
I focus my attention back to my own needs (highly rare as a mother), and work myself back up to where I left off within just a minute or two.Finally.
But then, the rhythm stutters, the suction slows, and the vibrator gives one last shudder and dies in my hand, leaving me on the brink of a very promising release.
“FUCK!” I whisper-shout, now frustrated in more ways than one.
Now this is probably the time to give up, chalk it up to a bad round, and move on with my life. But it’s beenweekssince Chance and I have had sex, and after my last pregnancy…I just can’t go that long anymore.
My libido has been hyped up for three years now (not that it was low before that—it wasn’t), and I don't see it coming down anytime soon.
Ineeda release.
I start to turn into even more of a feisty bitch if I go more than a few days, and I’m going to blame my recent irritability on this dry spell.
Yeah. Sure. That’s all it is. Biology.
It has nothing to do with the fact that your husband has practically become your roommate instead of the love of your life, the salty voice in my head chides.
