Yesterday I had the idea that I would surprise my sex starved husband with a little nooky. I showered and prepped my bod and then pounced on him just as he was waking up. Pounced implies I had full control over my body and faculties but I'm fairly sure it was more of a "I fell onto the bed in a heap" kind of moment--I am not a graceful pregnant woman. I feel like an adorable mi nature elephant. I think I look cute, but I'm definitely lumbering. Anyways, we start having sex and it's not half bad. Then my hip pops out the socket for a moment...that wasn't fun or pleasurable and it's never happened before. I wiggle, it goes back and I go back to my business at hand. It pops again and I decide it's time to change positions. I'm guessing the leg popping business is the whole stretching of ligaments and whatnot in preparation for the baby. Whatever it was, it was loud and it was not hot! A few minutes later in this new position, John looks at me alarmed and says, "You're bleeding."
My heart stops.
I run to the bathroom and check myself. I am indeed bleeding--enough to be concerned but not enough that I'm screaming (yet). I don't think I'm breathing any more. In the next minute we debate what to do. We decide. Get to the car, call the doctor on the way to the hospital. We are calm. We get the new insurance card, the doctor's business card and phone easily, as if they were placed out and waiting for us. John grabs my license just in case I need it in the emergency room. He begins driving towards the closest hospital while I calmly place a message with the messaging service.
The doctor calls me back--asks me a series of questions which for some reason I cannot answer alone and must consult John on--how much am I bleeding? Would you say it's like my period? And bless him, he answers all the questions for me and I echo them into the phone. In an almost tired "I've heard all of this before" voice she tells us to go home--we probably just bumped my cervix which is delicate now. If the bleeding continues after an hour, head down to the emergency room. I pride us on the fact that we were both so calm and collect with the whole situation...I'm really just talking because I don't want to think about the next hour.
We go home and we try to relax. I head to the bathroom and check myself. Still bleeding. I put my head on the sink and begin to cry. And the tears don't stop for awhile. John talks me off the toilet that I probably would've sat on for the entire hour. I don't have any cramps, I don't have any pain...we have most likely just bruised my cervix like she said. I nod and wipe my eyes. John pulls Psych up on the Tivo and makes me laugh...he never watches my stupid show we me. He stays with me so that I don't go running back to the bathroom. In my head I'm trying to gauge whether or not there's been any more bleeding, I can't tell but I try to laugh at the stupid, easy jokes on TV. After an hour I go back and check and the bleeding has all but stopped. The crisis was averted, there was no actual crisis and now for the first time since the early days of pregnancy I am full of fear, doubt and worry*.

* I am feeling better now, but when I wrote the post I was feeling very fragile.

** It will also be a rare miracle if we actually have sex over the rest of the pregnancy, we're both feeling a little gun shy.

...shouldn't have sex doggy style. I'm just saying.

I am now bruised and a little broken after learning this important lesson. After playing poker with John's sister and boyfriend we headed over to T's house to celebrate our friend Tony's birthday with everyone. They had been at the bar all night, but with a few shots of bourbon (the only available liquor in their new house...Odd? yes.) we managed to mingle with them nicely. So nicely in fact, that we slipped away from the group and headed to the front room of the house which no one can really figure out is actually for. It's like a very small walled-in cement porch.

It must've been the ambiance of this cement "mud room" that made us feel so frisky. All that cement, all those cobwebs...oooh yeaaaah. And so, quickly we stripped out of certain items and headed towards the wall with the window. It made sense because the room was too small for any other purpose than to have sex in. I blame the numbing agents of alcohol, John's enthusiasm for the sport and my being a little too close to the wall for the abrasions and bruises that adorn my forehead, nose and elbow today.

There's so much more, but I don't even know how to put it into words...or if I even want to.

I lie here with a retched pain in my back watching my tivoed Project Runway (my secret dream would be a fashion designer...I can barely thread a sewing machine, I'd have to hand sew EVERYTHING!!). It is a searing pain that started as a pinch and throughout my day as a standup comedian/slave driver forced me to walk with my ass sticking out (further than usual) and bent over like a C...it was horrible, I felt like an idiot shuffling around with the pain clearly exposing itself on my face. Pain, however, was not on my mind last night.

Last night I was skipping around the house and grinning like an idiot because I got laid. Ah, when will I grow up?? I am like an endearing, horny teenage boy when I get sex, I look grateful...I act all goofy, I do a little dance...I'm probably a little annoying. While most adults lay exhausted in the afterglow, or puff on a post coital cigarette--there's me singing a little ditty, "I got a piece of asssss, yeah!" (I wish I was kidding you, but I'm not).

Oh and I'm a genius for picking berries and whipped cream for dessert last night. I'm not a huge dessert fan but if I got to have dessert like that, I'd definitely be a dessert lover!!

(Ok, shitty post but I'm in pain...bottom line, my husband gave me some seriously good sex last night, my back now kills. If it has anything to do with the sex I'm getting too old too quick).