Just because your wife is expecting doesn’t mean the end of a loving, fulfilling sex life. Or does it? Read on to find out what’s ahead in the bedroom – and much, much more.

I feel like absolute crap. Get away from me. Like in the other room away. Now.

These early days of pregnancy are hard going. I feel nauseas from the moment I wake until the moment my head hits the pillow. To be honest I’m probably nauseous while I’m sleeping but I’m just too tired to notice. Between the crying, vomiting, gagging and whinging that nothing fits me I’m surprised you even want to look at me. Let alone have sex. But clearly you do. Shove off. There’s more chance of a snowstorm in hell.

I feel unattractive and unloved, why don’t you want me anymore?
Oh, you think this is irrational? I said I didn’t want you to touch me? Well, I did. But now I’ve changed my mind. And I do. I’m feeling particularly fragile right now. I don’t look pregnant. I look like I ate two double cheeseburgers for lunch. And this chronic river-of-acid-reflux-indigestion kind of indicates the same. I don’t care that I smell like vomit, I need you to make me feel good about myself. Tell me you love me, I’ll be a great mum and that I’m beautiful RIGHT NOW.

Yes, you’re well endowed. But that is not a baby-damaging sized penis.
Oh so now that I’d finally like to Marvin Gaye and… you’ve lost your nerve? And your hard-on? Are you kidding me? You’ve been grinding that thing into my back every chance you get for weeks. Well guess what? I’m in the mood and this is happening. Your penis? Yes, it’s lovely. Huge! No it will not hit the baby on the head. The amniotic sac and my uterus protect the baby, and the thick mucus plug – did you actually just gag? – seals the cervix, guarding the baby against infection. Trust me, seriously TRUST ME, the baby is safe. I checked online.

F*ck me. I’ve never been hornier. Get in here now and…
Just like that my hormones are through-the-roof. Someone call the plumber, my downstairs just flooded. Forget everything I said previously about not touching me I have CHANGED MY MIND. I just dreamt about Channing Tatum and we were undressing in a… Forget it. Just get in here. This is go time! I love you too… stop talking and concentrate, seriously.

These good hormones are insatiable. Get in here again. What do you mean you don’t want to have sex right now? Oh God, I’m a whale and you’re not into me… you think I’m fat.
What do you mean stop crying? Do you know how turned on I am at the moment? Have you realised this is the last chance you will get to have uninterrupted sex with me for the next 18 years. Probably 25 years with property prices, this baby will never move out. It doesn’t matter anyway because you hate me like this. I’m hideous…
Oh, you’re just on the phone to your Mum? Sorry. Um. Well get in here when you’re done. Quickly.

What? You’re worried having sex with me could bring on labour? Oh bloody hell, okay let me Google it. Hang on.
Nup, we’re in the clear. Google says we can keep having sex literally until my waters break if we want. Oh you don’t think that sounds that sexy? Yeah, fair point. Anyway, what about now? Oh God, yes that feels… DO NOT TOUCH MY BREASTS. Keep your hands off my nipples. Yes, of course KEEP GOING. Did anyone say stop?

Can you just STOP with the rubbing your junk on my back? Look at the size of me. I’m exhausted. I can’t even think about having sex with you right now. Let me sleep… I’m growing an enormous baby.

This third trimester is a killer. I don’t know where my ankles went, I can’t find a comfy position in bed, I’m peeing every 11 minutes, you say I’m snoring like a freight train and this baby feels like it could crash through my pelvic floor at any minute. Actually I kind of wish it would. Hmm. The app that compares this baby to fruit isn’t that amusing anymore. I can’t stop thinking about giving birth to a pineapple. I don’t want to have this baby. It’s going to hurt. Oh for the love of God I need to pee again.

I know it’s been three weeks, I know. I’m just like literally unable to roll over let alone…
What do you mean it’s your birthday? And would I like to what instead? Well, yes, I do really love you. But the baby is due any day now and I’m so totally done. The app said it’s a watermelon. Do you know how big a watermelon is? Okay, okay, I know it’s your birthday, okay then. Come on! Stop laughing; I know my belly is huge. Look if we can get the important bits in contact we can do this. Other people do… right!?

Honey, hon. Wake up. It’s time. We need to go to the hospital. DEAR GOD IT HURTS. Yes, my bag. Next to the door. No, the other door. Please, just choose a shirt, ANY SHIRT. Okay, we have to go. NOW. You know I love you right? Let’s go have a baby.

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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