Let's Talk About Sex, (and no) Baby

I took a course on Early American literature as part of my minor in grad school. The professor was one of those incredible women who sprinted into the room and the energy level spiked as if everyone had just chugged an espresso. She could get us talking, laughing, standing, shouting. And if you've spent any time in American literature circa 1790-1900 you'll know it's littered with women who fell in love with the wrong men, held the wrong ideas, came of age, left home, cut their hair, and died. It became a class mantra, one chanted exuberantly in unison when the instructor sashayed to the front of the class and offered us a knowing look with a "Sooo?"

"Sex is Death!" we chanted. "Sex is Death!"

That's all I could think of for weeks after Maddy died, as I paced circles in my bedroom:  a classroom of giddy college students, merrily chanting "Sex is Death!" Here my own life had turned into a nineteenth-century novella writ large.

Sex is Death!

:::

In my defense, quite unlike most of you, when I was in the hospital I defiantly proclaimed I wasn't going to do THAT again. And by THAT, I meant carry and deliver a baby, or by extension, any of the precursory goings on. I decided that avoiding babies, and avoiding them vehemently, meant not going to places to where they might be, or doing things that might just cause me to have one.

Coitus packed the bags, stopped the mail, and took a long interruptus.

Sex and I have had a rather on-again/off-again relationship over most of the last decade. Eight years ago now, when I was overconfident and perhaps still even a bit cute, I excitedly dumped my pills in the trash and said, "Let's have a baby!" And two fun, anticipatory months later, voila! And a month after that, an ultrasound confirming the reason for all the bleeding.

But I got pregnant, right? We'll just do it again! And again! And again. A-gain. Again? God, tonight, really, must we? Already? I spent two years having timed sex, at times hopped up on one medication or another, sometimes followed by a rather humiliating trip to the RE, trying to have Bella. The idea that sex was "fun" or "procreative" or both dwindled until Bella was conceived. And while the fun resumed in a timely fashion, I can honestly say I didn't get my groove back until the breast-feeding hormones left the building. And for a while there, it was reliving the good ol' days of just doin' it whenever! Because why not! And there was joy and harmony and sometimes the planets collided into starry explosions. (Cue grauzy footage and loaded euphemisms.) And then we decided to try again, and again with the planned sex, and Maddy and . . . . well. Let's just say my drive didn't come back when the milk ran dry.

The fear and loathing was multifold. First and foremost, I was a big chickenshit. That something so fun could possibly result in . . . THAT, made my skin run cold. I remember in High School my biggest fear was getting pregnant because it might wreck my chances of escaping my wee little town and leaving my state and going to college. I now realized I hadn't even begun to comprehend what fear really was. In my mind there was no birth control safe enough to prevent the horrible "Alien" meets "House" hell that I had just experienced. I had just wound up on the wrong side of 1 in a kajillion, and you're handing me a pack of pills telling me to smile and trust 99%? Get the fuck out.

A month or so after Maddy died, I went on antidepressants, which made me about as excited as a 1950s Bowling Championship rerun. Not to mention the audio/visual loop of her death that started every night when the lights went out (now that's foreplay!). And because of the loop and the anxiety and the insomnia, sleep took a far greater precedence over anything. A-n-y-thing.

And finally, there was my body. It was -- and still is -- rather distressing. My wee breasts which at one point I could've described as "perky" were anything but. My midsection was a deflated tire. I was . . . am heavier. My skin is a blotchy mess, and I have deep rings under my eyes (which were puffy for months). I honestly couldn't stand to look at myself, let alone have my husband look at the minefield or (gasp!) touch it. I steered far clear of what I guessed must be his sheer horror in my new weight, lumps that shouldn't be there, sag where there once was not. And mind you, I don't think it was necessarily the outward visual appearance that depressed the shit out of me, although it was pretty unsexytastic (my husband is elevated enough on the food chain that I trusted he still found me "beautiful" -- especially after a beer). No, it was what the new self represented, what it reminded me of, what I assumed he thought of when he caught glimpse of a cottage cheese thigh. And does to this day. My jeans won't snap. Because of Maddy, and she's dead.

When I finally had those longings, it wasn't really those longings at all. You know the scene from "High Fidelity" when Laura leaves her father's funeral with Rob (now her ex) and asks him to have sex with her, right then, in the car? And as he gives her a bewildered "You want me to WHAT?!" look, she says, puffy-eyed and sobbing, (and I'm probably paraphrasing a tad,) "I just want to feel something else." I just want to feel something else.

That was it, something else. There finally (Hallelujuah, interjects my husband) came a point after months of some Lysistrata-type mindset (protesting what, I'm not entirely clear) that I just needed to feel something else. Something other than numb. Something other than despondent. Something other than bonecrushing sadness. I missed him, hell, I missed it. And I sheepishly crawled across the divide.

And, much to my chagrin, I cried afterwards. Me. The sports-loving, beer-drinking, foul-mouthed, "I don't need no stinking cuddling," "Go ahead and leave in the morning, just turn the snooze off" me, cried after sex. Pffffffffffft.

:::

Once in a blue moon, there are still tears afterwards (I can't believe I just copped to that). In fact, two years later, there are still moments of . . . er, confusion. Change. Thoughts that crash in like a meteor through the ceiling and quell everything like a cold shower. I certainly don't reject a midmorning "conference call" if we both happen to be "working at home" but I crave darkness now more than I once did. I'm always a bit saddened when our bracelets -- worn in Maddy's remembrance, mine on my left wrist, his on his right -- clash. I hate being jolted from a mindless floating state when the extra weight in my midsection becomes the focus -- and not in a good way. There are times I consciously need to turn off the dark side of my brain, so it will let me enjoy, for enjoyment's sake -- not because I want to defrost and feel.

I remember thinking, a few months after Maddy's death, that I had lost so much more than my daughter -- I had lost things that I deeply enjoyed, like tasting food and sex. And seriously wondered if either would ever return. There wasn't an "A-ha! It's back!" moment for either of those sensations, just a slow return to recognizing both and a dawning realization later that I could indeed remember how to feel. In a good way. In the best of ways. In the "Damn, you look good in those jeans and I missed you while you were out grilling dinner" kinda way.

Hey baby, thanks for clearing my dreams, 
Of all those horror scenes,
Which crept in uninvited.
I'm in love and I'm so excited,
Hey baby, thanks for clearing my dreams.

Eventually, the repercussions, the self-deprecation, the replay, the zombies, alien babies and all the other ingredients of scary films that appear when the lights go out subside. Eventually.

Now if you'll excuse me . . . .

Let's Do it!   Let's Go All the Way! Can you say a few words about your sex life after the death of your child(ren)? Was there an extended spell without? What pulled/pushed you back? Has it changed, and if so, how?

This post is a part of  The Body Shop  at Glow in the Woods -- a month of themed reflections and memes that explore what we do in an effort to occupy these physical selves with grace after babyloss.

Comments

[Coggy]

After Jacob died I wanted to feel anything but what I was feeling. I wanted to feel close to S in that very basic way. My post-partum bleeding was so heavy and went on so long we didn't for quite a while. The delay enforced by most post-birth body meant it was quite awkward when the time finally came round. I cried on numerous occasions. I think there's something about that empty-headedness of sex that leaves the door wide open for the sadness to come crashing in.

[Kate]

It was very hard to do it again. My water broke very prematurely while having sex. So there was a lot of misplaced guilt and responsibility. So fast forward to about 20 weeks later... the first time after delivery was also just the next time since the pPROM. I really dreaded it. But I just went through the motions to get it out of the way - that first time. And lots of crying here too. It has been a few months now. It's better. A lot better. But probably will never be okay. The memories are always there. The sadness that we won't ever have sex trying to get pregnant again. All of it can creep in.
Thank you for writing about your experience.

[kalakly]

I was so desperate to get pg again that I wanted to have sex as soon as we got home from the hospital. Speaks volumes to me now of how I 'deal' with grief. I wanted to pretend it had never happened. I remember thinking if we got pregnant right away I would deliver only a few short months after I should have and maybe that would make the pain seem less horrible. Yeah,um, right. NOT.
Even now, the idea of sex that is not for baby making is a concept I can't get to. It's another loss that I never anticipated, the idea that it was taken from me not surrendered by me willingly. That I wanted to tie it up and wrap it neatly in a bow and instead it became a tangled knot of everything lost and gained and stolen and longed for.
But your words say it much better than mine could ever hope to.

[Jess]

Like Kalakly I was totally focused on getting pregnant again, so we had lots of sex at very specific times i.e. when I was ovulating and then none at all for the other 3 weeks. I completely disregarded my husband's feelings a lot of the time, which I think left him feeling a bit manipulated. Since getting pregnant again, we're slowly getting back to where we used to be. I'm very hormonal so it's quite infrequent, but at least it comes from genuine love and desire now. Hindsight is clear as crystal, of course. I can see now how hurtful my actions were to both of us as individuals, as well as to our relationship in general... but, shit, y'know our daughter had just died - we neither of us have behaved perfectly...

[kris]

Brilliant post, Tash. Simply brilliant.

[Molly]

There's so much in your post that I identify with and that I want to comment on. One of the things that comes to mind when I think of sex now is how much I wish to be a little more stereotypically male in my mindset. I feel like that would mean I could actually set aside all my overanalysis and quiet my mind and just enjoy the moment, the comfort of being with my husband, without thinking so damn much. It's really hard for me to escape into sex. I pretty much have to force myself to go there because I know that my husband expresses love through sex and it's so important to him. Once I can get into, it's pleasant, it's good, but wanting it in the first place remains hard.

On another note, I definately had the opposite reaction in the hospital. My immediate reaction, one of basic disbelief, was just to get pregnant again asap. Now as the weeks slowly glide by it feels far less possible to escape the pain by having another baby. There's just no clear path. Whatever reaction we have, whatever our instinct leads us toward, there's still no way to replace the baby we lost.

[loribeth]

Ummm, the first time after we got the go-ahead to start trying again, I cried. During. My poor dh. (insert red-faced icon here)

[Sophie]

My little girl struggled for six months and during that time my husband and I were so in tune and so close to each other. We were a team. Perfectly in synch. When she died I stopped feeling that way because we grieved so differently; he went off to his cave and I wanted to talk about her. I wanted sex all the time, (it confused him and wore him out) and I eventually worked out that I was terrified that we wouldn't get that feeling of closeness back. I felt like I was losing him as well as having lost my little girl. After a while things calmed down and I accepted that we were grieving differently. We are back into a normal routine (our new normal anyway) but I still cry afterwards and I still think of her.

[margaret]

Sex. Interesting topic. I have been thinking alot about this in the last couple of days, particulary because I'm starting to feel that it's one thing my husband is using to fill the void, the empty, endless feeling of loss. He wants sex. I want chocolate. We have alot of sex, probably more than most couples married five years and while it's fulfilling and intimate, I can't help but feel lately that it's his escape.

I too am trying to fill the void, I eat emotionally, I medicate, I blog, I cry, I read incessantly but nothing seems to fill the vaccuum inside me. I've tried to lose myself in sex, tried to focus on the love in my marriage and in my husband's eyes as he looks at my body and says I'm beautiful, because I don't feel beautiful. I feel torn and ugly and like I've failed him and our son. My belly is an embarassment, like a snarling shar-pei has parked itself on my midsection and I can't bear to look at myself naked. How do you let go of the inadequacies between here and Nevruary so that you can be naked and not think of all the rotten consequences that have sprung from your loins??? I'm having trouble letting go, but when I do it's usually beautiful in the moment....

[Catherine]

Thank you Tash. So much to think about.

And I must admit I did nearly fall off my chair laughing when I thought of you all earnestly chanting 'Sex is Death'. Then I cried. It seems a strangely romantic idea when you are young, the link between sex and death. It is such a blessing that we do not know what the future holds for us, it not so romantic when you have that link squashed up right in your face. Pretty hard to avoid the notion that the two come together then.

I don't know about sex. Seven months after it seems that sex is too intimately connected to procreation and procreation appears to be something that I am pretty lame at. Don't know (and don't care anymore) about the 'good in bed' part but at the 'carrying a healthy baby to term' part, I definitely suck. And being expected to use all the bits that let my girls down so badly, for pleasure? Uh uh, I don't think so.

My body is also distressing. My necklace with my girls initials is also always clashing on something or getting tangled up. And the loop, the glorious loop.

[G.]

I just wanted to comment that I, like you, didn't have the typical reaction of "I NEED to get pregnant again right away." And she was my first. It's been a couple years now, and I'm still unsure.

When we received the news that my daughter had passed away, it was late in the evening, and my doctor sent us home to "have a good night's sleep" and be induced first thing in the morning. To say that it was the worst night of my life doesn't even come close. When we arrived home, still completely numb and in shock, my husband actually suggested that we have sex, because it would be at least another 6 weeks before we could. My 7-lb. daughter was dead inside of me, and my husband wanted to make love. Needless to say, we didn't. But "it," along with so many other areas of my life, has never been the same for me since.

[Erica]

Thanks for writing about this so honestly and brilliantly, Tash.

After Teddy died my energy levels were low and I was in a state of shock that made it hard to be affectionate, hard to initiate sex, even once we had the go-ahead, even though I was glad to get the go-ahead. Now I've got a bit more energy, things are good. There are different kinds of sex, though. There's "trying" sex which makes me worry that he thinks I'm using him for his sperm, and makes me worry that we could be wheeling toward disaster again. There's "turn my brain off, please" sex, which is a comfort and a solace, and there are times when the fact that we've now helped each other through our worst moments brings on incredible closeness - not fireworks, exactly - more like big tidal waves.

[Natalie]

I think, because our baby was conceived by IVF, that I have a different view of sex than most women with babies, or women who have lost babies. For us sex does not equal baby. It's like two separate entities. So for me I wanted to have sex after I gave birth, for the closeness... I cried, yes. I just needed that connection with my husband, that feeling of being protected by him.

[CLC]

It's hard to explain how it's different now, but it is. I remember my husband helping me shower the day I came home from the hospital (2 days after delivering her via c-section) and we both wanted to so badly, I think for the closeness. We didn't because of doctor's instructions, but I think we would have crawled inside each other if we could. But then once we got the "go- ahead" my desire seemed to have faded. Grief just takes too much out of you. We obviously had it again, but it's just different now for so many reasons.

[Jenni]

I was put on pelvic rest at week 6 due to bleeding from a polyp that the docs couldn't quite make sense of. They thought it might clear up in my 2nd trimester, in which case, all clear for sex! Then my cervix got all tricksy on week 13, so we were looking at no sex for, what, 5-6 more months?? We started talking dirty to each other, fantasizing about the day we would "do it" again. (Did I mention we're newlyweds?) That day came much, much sooner than we wanted when we lost the baby week 20. We're having sex again, but it's less frequent, and less fun and "dirty" than we thought it would be postbirth. It's lovely and it's a comfort. And we've never once said to the other, well the good news we can have sex again! Although I'm sure that in cynical moments we've both thought it.

One thing I think about now is where to put Angel Mae's tattoo. If it's on my breast, near my heart, or my belly or my hips, will it be a too close too visible reminder for my man when he's trying to just get lost in me, get lost from his pain? I'm keenly aware now of how my body, any woman's body, can hold and symbolize pleasure and pain, life and death.

[Jodi Cleghorn]

Thank you for the insightful article Tash and the opportunity for women to speak about their experiences.

I am the co-owner of the Reclaim Sex After Birth site. The issue of sex after the loss of a baby came up in a comment shared during our Sex After Birth survey and it was something that I had no idea how to address. I'm grateful to now be able to provide a link for parents who may have this history and have written a very short over view of your article on our blog.

I'll ensure on our next linking update that we also add Glow in the Woods to our links page.

Thanks again!

[Julie]

This is an interesting topic. No on usually talks about it in a form that could be helpful information.

I wanted my husband to make love to me the day our son died. I wanted the connection. I needed him close. He didn't want to, but he did because I insisted. He doesn't have the need to connect like I do.

He loves cuddles and kissing, and that starts me hanging for more. He has been hurt, abused even, I have to be sensitive to that. I want him to feel safe. I want him to say that he likes it. I don't know if he ever will. I think that it is a very important part of marriage. I am the one who pushes for it 100% of the time.

He says he wants a baby, then he confuses me by not having sex. I want him to have a baby too. In his previous relationship he had 2 babies both aborted. Then we lost our son. He still wants to try. I know I am not trying to make replacement, but I wouldn't have tried again if he had lived.

Its more than just baby making, but that is where we are at with sex right now. He will sort of participate in baby making, I pointed out the days on my chart last night but couldn't get what I wanted. Am I being selfish?

[Jess]

@Julie - You're not selfish, you're grieving, and you want to feel close to the only other person that can fully comprehand your situation. I don't know you or your husband, so I'm wary of offering an opinion, but I wonder if he might be feeling very frightened at the moment. It sounds to me like his experiences of his own fertility, even before you lost your baby, we're painful for him and that could be why he hesitating to throw himself back into to baby-making.

I really empathise with how you must be feeling in this situation. As I said above, I was desperate to get pregnant after we lost Iris. It must be so frustrating when you feel such strong desire for your husband and he is unable or unwilling to respond to you. I'm not sure what else to say other than it really helped me and my husband to keep communicating. It wasn't easy (he became very depressed and introverted) but it kept me hanging on in there when I honestly considered packing my bags and walking away.

I think that all you can do is keep loving hime, and keep showing him that you do, and eventually he'll be ready to have sex again. If there's one thing I've learnt from my own experience is that it doesn't feel good to have sex with a reluctant partner.

Lots of love x

[girlh]

wow. As Kris said, that was brilliant.

10 days after losing my babies we found ourselves in Napa. Gorgeous place, weather was perfect, we were surrounded by amazing friends. I cried every morning and ever evening and in between we were able to put on the happy face and actually enjoy our holiday. Fueled by grief and, if I'm honest, copious amounts of wine....we did have sex. DH was nervous as we had not been given the "ok" by our doctor but in my head I did not care. What could go wrong that could be worse than what already happened? Not to mention I had zero confidence in that doc at this point.

Because sex had become a chore to GET pregnant and ultimately did not do the "trick" it kind of got fucked up in my head. After T&O died it was even worse. My body was broken. Couldn't get pregnant. Couldn't STAY pregnant. So what was the point.

FET, IVF,IVF later...I got pregnant with Davis. I had a cerclage at 13 weeks and full bed rest at 20 weeks. That meant no sex until I was not pregnant anymore. And honestly it was a relief because it was doctors orders and I didn't have to feel guilty for not wanting it. Even without dr. orders DH probably wouldn't have even suggested it anyway as he was terrified too.

Now my babies have been gone four years on Sunday and Davis is 2.5 and the idea of sex is still fucked up in my head. My body still feels broken. Definitely not what it was before...not fully recovered from those months flat on my back, and that's just physically speaking. I'd rather be in the comfort of sweats than sexy lingerie. The guilt is HUGE and the grief of this loss also HUGE. One more thing I lost of the me before ttc/dead babies.

Tash, when I read the line about you crying after sex I bawled. And I cry every time after sex. Sometimes out loud and sometimes just in my head.

Once again, I hate that there are so many of us here in this place but also nice to have confirmation that I am not crazy for having these feelings.

Thanks for the honest and open post Tash.

[Jill]

Tash, I'm an English graduate too and the whole "Sex is Death" thing did make me do the smiling/crying thing I do so well these days. For me, honestly, sex has been one of the most profoundly healing things in the last 6 months. Yes, there have been tears but, honestly, the connection between my husband and I has never been deeper ... and making love has been fundamental to that. It's like the grief I feel for Emma has cracked me wide open and I'm more receptive to tenderness and passion now.

[sweetsalty kate]

Such a great post, tash, and not just because it's the first time anyone's ever said any variation of the word 'sexytastic' on this site (hopefully not the last).

I can't express my own sexual recovery any better than this:
"Eventually, the repercussions, the self-deprecation, the replay, the zombies, alien babies and all the other ingredients of scary films that appear when the lights go out subside. Eventually."

All I'd add is that I hid. For a long time I avoided intimacy with my husband - and not just sex, but being alone with him - and I'm still trying to wrap my head around why. It's just such a godforsaken burden to share the memory of the night of Liam's death with him. For a very long time, being close with him meant having to look that memory in the eye.

There are plenty of babylost parents out there who say their intimacy increased after loss, that it made them closer. I envy that, admire it. But that doesn't capture what this did to us. It's such a weight on a marriage, especially when husband and wife cope differently. It's taken us a very long time to cross the void between us, and two years later I'm not sure if we've managed it completely yet.

But all we can do is keep trying, right?

[g]

Last year I tried the DDD (do the deed daily) just because I felt so disconnected in the sex category. It worked for a while.

But now, sex absolutely will not end up in a "miracle" pregnancy since my tube was removed. For years it has been about a possible baby. Now it's just for us and I only want to do it in the dark, when the timing is just right. Sporadic is an understatement.

[Reese]

I was like CLC. After I delivered Ronan and was home, it took everything to not have sex with my hubby. We made out like forbidden lovers that night, practically swallowing each other whole. I don't really know what it was all about, other than the need to prove we were alive and survived? When we did get the all clear we were careful because we were told to not to try to get pregnant until we got the tests back, but it was all lust at that time. Very unusual for me. Before this happened I enjoyed sex, but my libido is pretty medium-warm. Afterwards, it was fire hot. I thought about sex all the time.

Thinking back on it, I think I was trying to prove that I was still a woman. I 'failed' at being a woman ala not delivering my son alive, so I found myself dressing up, getting a manicure, cutting my hair, making sure my lipstick was always on. I was still a woman!!!! I seemed to be screaming. I was flirty and all smiles with random men, but seriously, I was dead on the inside. It was the first time I understood how a woman could get lost in sex, fucking randomly and getting no where. I am grateful I didn't have an affair during the time, but damn if the thought didn't cross my mind half a dozen times.

Great post!