Rated PG-13.

The boys are all napping. Life is just going along, totally normal and fine, which is fine with me. I'm not depressed. I'm just regular, and that is fabulous.
I am thankful for the weekends with Joey. I am thankful for sex. Who'da thought in seven years it'd be just as crazy but a whole lot better and more intense than it was at the beginning? We basically have sex all weekend long. It makes up for the three and four days he works and we don't see each other. We're hungry for each other and in the crazy life of a young family, sex is the ultimate reprieve. Renewing, refreshing, connecting, when nothing else does.
I've always enjoyed sex. It's a role reversal from the stereotype of "hubby wants it all the time". Not in my house. In my house, "mama wants it all the time." And after seven years, I've beginning to come to peace with that, with me. So I like sex? Sometimes more than my husband? Good for me.
I feel sometimes like it is a special little gift God gave me, that I like it. To me, there is nothing on God's green earth better than sex. This is a testament not only to the rock star skills of my hubby in bed, but also to the unique way God put me together. And honestly, I think more women are like me, we just don't get heard very often in a culture who accepts the notion that men want it and women hate it. Especially, a-hem, the christian culture.
It used to irk me, and I guess it still does, that any christian book on sex, if mentioned at all, will have about a paragraph worth of "now there is the very rare case where a wife will want sex more than her husband..." and then some lame advice to get undressed super slow and that should fix it.
Not so much.
We're over the hump now, but there was a period of time that I could have used some serious help in how to deal with the pain of what I saw as rejection to the deepest part of me. Why didn't he want me? I must be unwantable. Ugly. I must smell. As sexy as a piece of old broccoli.
And then I grew up a little bit and learned to ask for things that I want, learned to talk to Joey without assuming he was thinking I was ugly and stunk, and things slowly got better. We are just two human beings who want different things at different times, but we loved each other. And somehow, the kinks got worked out, like sifting flour: eventually after a lot of shaking, the lumps got sorted out, the impurities were separated from the good stuff.
And boy, is the good stuff good!
I learned to trust myself. I learned I am a complete person, whether Joey wanted me sexually or not. I learned my beauty did not depend on Joey's need for sex, or his lack of need. I learned to ask for what I wanted without hesitation or reservation. Just ask.
And then when the answer is no, I've learned it is not "no" to me, it's "no" to sex. And then I can still curl up close and drift off to sleep assured my husband loves me, he's just tired, sick, mad, or stressed about something. His problems, not mine. And because I love him, I don't want to stress him more, make him more tired. So we'll just sleep.
Unless I really really really want it and then I say so. Because that is what relationship is: back and forth, someone giving something, someone receiving. It's the balance of giving and serving while at the same time not letting your own needs get pushed under the bus. In other words, being a grown up.
Now how did I manage to write a whole post on sex? Oh yes, naps...just talking about sleep, sometimes that's all it takes.