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May 21, 2008

Momma Left This Part Out

MartyGrowing up, we didn't talk about sex in my house. I learned all I needed to know for a long time from my friend Jennifer in the fifth grade. She had a very scientific book at her father's house, and very unsupervised HBO at her mom's house.

A couple of weeks before my 12th birthday, a book appeared in my bedroom. Almost Twelve was the sex education book of choice for parents who listened to James Dobson. Unfortunately, at the time, my parents did listen to James Dobson.

The book was barely more than a pamphlet and contained brief explanations of puberty along with pictures of girls and boys in different developmental stages. The final picture had them looking not unlike Ken and Barbie dolls, minus the enormous knockers. It explained that babies were made when a man and a woman got married. God sent happy married couples babies. There might have been something about how the baby came out of the woman's vagina, but I doubt it.

A few days after the book appeared in my room, my mother asked if I had found it. I told her I had, and she asked if I had any questions. I told her I didn't. I got the point. Wait to have sex until you are married and don't expect it to be fun. It's just a tool for God to send you babies.

That was the end of my sex education at home unless you count the time I came home early with my friend Cliff. He was waiting downstairs while I ran up to tell my parents I was home. Let's just say that what the James Dobson book left out, I saw live that night. Needless to say, Cliff and I went back out and I missed my curfew that night.

For some reason, I never threw that little book away. In fact when I was cleaning out my bedroom the week before I was to be married, I found my sex ed textbook.

Just as I put my hand on my copy of Almost Twelve, my mother walked in and tentatively asked me if I had any questions about my, ahem, wedding night.

I whipped the little book up in the air and said enthusiastically, "That's alright, Mom. I've got this copy of Almost Twelve!" Then I tossed it in my suitcase.

She didn't think it was nearly as funny as I did.

All kidding aside, I do wish that I had been given a more straightforward discussion opportunity. I wish that she had told me that sex is an incredibly important part of a healthy marriage. I wish that she had let me in on the secret that it is important to find a man, a husband, who will desire you before and after stretch marks. Who will want to ravish you regardless of your morning breath. Who will think you are even sexier after you become the mother of his son.

She knows these things. I know she does because I see her relationship with my father. Even the night that I saw too much of their relationship has taught me something in hindsight. My father still wanted her after two children, a mastectomy, and some extra pounds brought on by chemo that just never went away. He still thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world.

Now, when Kevin wraps his arms around me from behind, I snuggle into him. I don't worry about my muffin top. I don't worry about my breasts that have become a milk bar for our son. I don't worry about the new lines on my face or bags under my eyes brought on by sleepless nights.

The only thing I worry about is how much time we have to sneak upstairs and get it on before the baby wakes. Because even though Almost Twelve and James Dobson would disagree, sex with my husband isn't always about God sending us babies. Usually we are just having a damn good time.

Marty also blogs at Don't Take the Repeats.


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