I apologize for not updating sooner. I have been trying to complete some things, and they just took my time. Okay, so on to today’s story: this is probably my last Journey To Baby post, unless I remember something else I forgot to tell you about. This is one story I have been meaning to share, but I just completely forgot.
Before I got pregnant, the only story I heard relating to sex and being pregnant was that when you’re pregnant, sex is much, much better. I heard that pregnant women usually have an increased libido and increased lubrication during sex. So when I got pregnant, I naturally expected to experience this bliss. I call it bliss not because I was desperate to experience it but because pregnant women talked about it as if it was an out-of-world experience (because it was. Or is). But talk about the danger of a single story.
For me, there was no sexual bliss to be had. None whatsoever. Instead of the increased libido, I wanted absolutely nothing to do with sex. I felt so sorry for poor Igwe. It started toward the end of the first trimester and did not really change till maybe a couple months ago (two months after having Ada Verastic). Sex was the farthest thing from my mind, and there was no way I could trick my mind into being interested. For me (and perhaps, for a lot of other women), sex starts mentally – and dare I say – sex is mostly mental. The mental part is the journey, and the physical part is the destination. I have learned that the journey matters even more than the destination. But while Ada Verastic was tumbling inside of me, I did not want to go on this journey.
The good thing was that Igwe was very, very understanding. Very horny, but very understanding. The few times we did have sex, he would make jokes and say things like, “I don’t even know if I still know how to do it” or “Oh, so this thing is still here (referring to my lady part).”
But like I said, I was not doing it on purpose. Ada Verastic just did a number within me. I don’t know how and I don’t know why, but the last thing I wanted was coitus. In fact, the mere thought of it sent me into exhaustion and depression. I did not know if I was tired because I was depressed or depressed because I was tired, but what I did know was that I wanted none of it. None.
I say all this to warn future mothers of a possible reality. Perhaps, there are only a few of us who have this issue of the dead libido, but according to the conversations I read in the October 2015 Babies threads on WhatToExpect (mobile app that tracks pregnancy), it was clear that I was not alone (although I never participated in those conversations).
Oh. And as if my lack of interest in coitus was not bad enough, there were a few times we did have and afterwards, I was that woman you see only on television. Yes, I burst out crying uncontrollably, and I really cannot tell you why I was crying because I did not know. I am a naturally emotional person, I know this. I cry for a whole lot of things, but not after coitus. It was only while I was pregnant that I burst into serious crying after this. The only other time I cried without even knowing the reason was after I had Ada Verastic. I’m suddenly feeling like I should dedicate an entire post or video to this excessive crying story.
Speaking of this story about the death that happened to my libido though, I am reminded to tell you about what happened when the dead libido rose from the dead. Fun story! That would be for another day. There’s even video.