In My Dreams ... or Not!

Well, I think it may have finally happened: my pregnancy has entered its traditional celibacy phase. There's no certain day or time or event that indicates the entrance of this phase - but when it takes a calendar and more than ten seconds to figure out when you last, um, did the dirty, it's a pretty safe bet that you've hit a dry spell.

This phenomenon seems to occur around the 7-month mark in each of my pregnancies. I can't blame my husband, because I've got to be honest: if he suddenly packed on 70+ pounds, like I do every.single.time, I wouldn't be all that attracted either. After all, this is a man who has seen my 5'8" frame at a svelte 130 pounds, complete with muscle tone and a cute belly button ring. And God love him, this same man has also seen my 5'8" frame at (gulp) 253 pounds - my heaviest weight ever - with a pregnant stomach riddled with stretch marks and a droopy flap where my "cute" belly ring once was. He has also seen two babies (and, erm, some poo once) emerge from "down there" during childbirth, and knows it's imminent again ... so I have to cut him some slack. I have no doubt that he still loves me - he just doesn't want to looooooove me right now, if you catch my drift. *nudge nudge*

(Plus he works 12-hour days, so it's not all shallowness.)

Anyway, it is during this last trimester that my mind generously offers assistance in the form of some pretty nice dreams. They usually involve Eminem, who is someone I would not fantasize about while I was awake - or Johnny Depp, whom I most definitely would have waking fantasies about.




(Or wait. Honey, are you reading this? If you are, I'm TOTALLY kidding. ... Ha. Ha.)


.... *ahem*

But there's a fundamental problem with this: the more children and pets I accrue, the more likely these dreams are to be interrupted. It happens nearly every time now. And we all know that an interrupted erotic dream is like ... well, an interrupted erotic experience: whether it happens in your mind or in real life, it's never cool, and it almost always leads to some degree of grumpiness.

That's how it was in the wee hours of this morning. I was leaning into Mr. Depp (who, coincidentally, finds me sexy when I'm fat and hormonal) for some dream lovin' when I heard the following from Colin's room:

"MOMMMMMMYYYYYYYYYY! I can't sleep with all this pee in my bed!!!!"

Fan-effin-tastic.

So like the dutiful mommy that I am, I slowly and clumsily heaved myself got up out of bed and went to see what the problem was. Luckily, what Colin was calling "pee" was actually just a spot of drool on his pillow. Whew. I flipped it over, problem solved, and I went back to bed - hopeful that I could pick up where I left off with Johnny.

But you wanna know what I dreamed about instead? My tomato plant. Yeah. Nothing sexy about that ... damn it.

"Children": another word for "take that, libido!"