Every once in a while, I think, "Hey, maybe I'll open this blog up to friends and family."
And then I write a post like the one you're about to read, and I know it's never going to happen. Because my husband would KILL ME (or worse, withhold backrubs).
The title of this post was the theme of yesterday afternoon. That's right, folks -- after getting the nod from the doctor on Thursday, we have Resumed Marital Relations. I am finally getting some.
However, we seem to have taken a step back in time. Or rather, many years back in time. To the time when you're not really sure what to stick where, or whether it's going to hurt (me), or how long it's going to last (him).
We eventually figured it out. It did indeed hurt like a mother-effer, but thankfully did not last very long. And it did reach a blissful (or at least semi-blissful) conclusion for yours truly. Hey, anything's blissful when you HAVEN'T HAD IT FOR FOUR MONTHS.
But it was sweet, and we laughed a lot, and it felt good to be close again.
Of course, now I'm worried that I'm about to throw myself into preterm labor.
It's always something.