Before I had kids, my sex life was pretty solid. We knew there would be times where life gets in the way and you can miss out on a bit of time together. But we never had trouble finding, erm, “quality time” to be intimate with each other and connect (literally).

We were double income, no kids. We went where we wanted and continued to ‘date’ each other well into the years of our marriage. The sex was ever-evolving, adventurous and bloody satisfying. Having both grown up in strict religious environments where sex was not discussed and not really allowed, 

sex schedule
Source: Bigstock

And then we had kids. 

Two, in fact. Quite close together. Both totally intentional, very wanted pregnancies, not without their complications, but we got two really cute kids out of it. 

I love those two monkeys, no matter how exhausting they can be. However, a lot of my time with them is spent in negotiation mode or diffusing the drama of my toddler being given the wrong colour plate. But sadly, the sex frequency has gotten less and less as the kids got older. Isn’t it meant to get better?

A family affair

In the beginning, if our toddler fell asleep in our bed we could rely on the fact that once they were in deep sleep, we could just lift them up and put them back in their own room, and then enjoy our bed and sex child-free (but always with one ear listening for those little feet, am I right?)

But then they entered the willful age of demanding to sleep with us, and some kind of FOMO about us sleeping in our room without them, and started refusing their own room.

Up 6, 7, 8 times a night, we caved in, desperate for sleep. Soon our spacious, comfy bed, our workbench, became a family affair. As we’ve tried to navigate ways to coax them back into their own rooms (and out of our bed), we’ve also found ourselves having less and less sexy time. IT SUCKS!

We’ve quite sadly resorted to sleeping in separate rooms – husband with the son, me with the daughter. The same daughter who clings to my neck like the Kraken on a sinking ship at sea, while she marches up and down my spine. On the odd occasion, I’m allowed to roll over … apparently, I have to be facing her at all times…!

Now I really love my kids, and I don’t mind sharing a bed with them if they’ve had a bad dream or need some extra reassurance. But I miss sleeping with my husband.

And what’s more, I miss having sex with him. In my bed. In general.

via GIPHY

Cue F**ckin Fridays

It got to the point where it had been a month since our last romp between the sheets and I’d had enough.

With the kids not budging out of our bed, and no real spare time in between work and play, something had to give.

Most nights I’m exhausted from negotiating with a miniature version of myself about why she can’t sleep in her Elsa costume or have ice cream at bedtime. How the heck are we supposed to find time to bump uglies in the night? And, where are we going to do it?

Determined not to be cock-blocked by our own offspring, we invented what we call “F**kin’ Fridays.

In short: we schedule sex every Friday.  Sex on a schedule, if you will.

We both make a commitment to log off work (we both work from home right now, given the pandemic) and at 4:30 on Fridays, we have sex. 

Ooh err, so romantic. Don’t judge, a woman’s got needs.

When I admitted our sex on a scheduled routine to my best friend one day, she laughed and seemed really shocked.

For her, sex on a schedule wasn’t possible. She couldn’t just turn it off and on and be ready at a scheduled time and place to get it on. For her, being in the mood was everything. But she also has tweenage kids, and grandparents at the ready. (Lucky!)

I politely nodded and told her that it’s pretty easy to get in the mood when you never have a moment without your kids in your bed at night, and that they’re not old enough to go to friends’ houses unsupervised.

MOOD: ON. And so, F**kin’ Fridays became a thing.

We were really good at sticking to it, (pun intended) as un-romantic as it might seem. We squeeze in an hour together before the kids are picked up from daycare, and before the madness of dinner time with fussy eaters takes over. 

We just… schedule it. And we’re both so much better off for it.

Friday afternoon, quality time, riding the pony. Sometimes in the spa, sometimes on the bed (that used to be ours) …  wherever the mood strikes really.

It’s Friday. It’s ours. Not a child in sight. 

Cockblocked by our kids … again

But then life happened, and we lost our rhythm. Our son was home two Fridays in a row due to the sniffles, and the following weeks after that, we got stuck in 14 days of isolation with our kids thanks to a case of COVID in their childcare centre. 

Thus Friday became another sad, sexless day, just like every other day of the week.

Not that we haven’t tried. But with the kids still firmly cemented to our beds, it’s no easy feat. No chance of doing it in our own room – daughter this there. The guest room – nope, cock blocked again by our son.

We can’t go downstairs, where the dog would inevitably try and join in the festivities. (No thank you!) We can’t use our spa because we have an open ensuite/master bedroom and our daughter would wake with the sound. “Mummyyyy, why are you on Daddy?”

The floor? (ooft) The bathroom bench? (too cold!) The car?? (um, I’m not that flexible anymore. plus, child seats.)

WHERE, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, can we bang in our own home?

We sit in defeated silence for a few moments. I’m pretty sure my husband is about to explode. Then he quietly says…. “I guess … (son’s) room…?”

Look. At this point, it’s been a month. And a stressful one at that.

SO WE DID IT. We climbed into our son’s king single bed, and had sex on his Adairs dinosaur printed sheets.

Call it doing what needs to be done. The call of duty. Therapy. Whatever. What’s done is done and I have zero regrets. 

I know this is just a stage and that a lot of couples go through this with young kids, but I can honestly say it really helps to know we have the time set aside and stick to it.

No matter how hard it gets (no pun intended), we know that it won’t be forever.

I guess right now though, for the foreseeable future, we’ll stick to F**king Fridays. Sex on a schedule. Yep. I can get down with that.

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Author

Miss Chief could be any member of the Mum Central team - in fact she actually is! The truth is that this writer doesn't want her Dad to read her thoughts on 'deep penetration', her kids to google and find her smiling face next to 'I lost my orgasm' and her mum to know anything (at all!) about her ladybits. Miss Chief pulls no punches, speaks the truth and allows Mum Central to cover all the nitty gritty that we love to share - without the author needing a permanent disguise for school pick up!

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