*Family member TMI alert*

Mom, TMI = You may not want to read this.

For the past few years, sex has come and gone in  my brain in a variety of ways that it never had before becoming a mom.

Before giving birth, I had heard of women losing their desire to have sex. I always figured it was because of the sensitive nature of the body part that was healing. But honestly, that part healed up a lot faster and easier than I thought it would.

However, I had no desire, even when I could. Luckily for me, it was a non-issue.

It wasn’t healing that hindered my desire.

I had a new person to cuddle with. And that person needed me for everything, love, food, warmth, reducing fear, mobility.

Added to that, I was newly in love. The idea of giving any part of me to another human being, even the person who helped me make the new love of my life, felt like an adultery. It made me queasy.

When I told Toyin this, along with the tidbit that simply watching sex scenes in the media made me wince, he said there must be something wrong with me.

Since it wasn’t really an issue between us at that point (our sex life pretty much died with my pregnancy, TMI much?) it was more of a rational conversation than it would have been if we were still a couple.

As usual, when discussing these types of issues with him, I thought he was probably wrong. I figured that eventually the old girl would come back around.

And she did. But it took much longer than I thought it would.

Like two years.

When the appeal came back over a year ago, the thought of having a new relationship with a man who had not fathered my child was hilarious to me. I couldn’t fathom how this could possibly work.

I was a single mom still nursing a toddler who seemingly planned to take my breasts with her to college.

No matter who you’re sharing them with, breasts are –in my mind– a one-person body part.

I imagined scenarios where I’d get lovey dovey with a new man only to dribble breast milk on him during a passionate act. Or have him encounter a new bedtime snack that neither one of us enjoyed.

Gross. I can’t imagine any scenario where that would have been acceptable for either one of us. If I met a guy who was okay with it, I’d go running for the door. Best case scenario is that I’d have a new story named the “Breast Milk Incident” filed under, Hilarious Yet Embarrassing Stories that I Only Tell When I’m Drunk.

And in case you’re wondering, oh yes, it not only could have happened; it almost definitely would have.

I was like a cow with my milk. I leaked out of the left side for the first four months. I was probably a wet nurse in a previous life. Given this talent, it’s really quite a shame that I only had one child.

As I pondered this possibility, I also recalled a story I heard once about a stripper who squirted breast milk on a guy because she was (supposedly) aroused and that’s just what happened. (As told to me by someone who was in the company of the man to whom it happened to. Don’t ask me how I end up with these stories in my life.)

These imaginary and supposedly real scenarios stopped me in my tracks every time I thought about finding ways to put myself back on the market.

But Annika is finally (FINALLY!) almost weaned. Need I say more?