When I first found out I was pregnant, I assumed that as my belly expanded, my interest in sex would diminish. Boy, was I wrong! The whirlwind of hormones had other plans. My partner, Mark, and I enjoyed a healthy sexual relationship right up until about the 36-week mark when things began to change dramatically.
As the advice poured in—“Have sex to induce labor!”—I found myself desperate to get things moving, yet intimacy became increasingly challenging. With my growing belly, I couldn’t see anything below it, and finding a comfortable position felt impossible. By the final weeks of my pregnancy, if I was in bed, all I craved was a few hours of uninterrupted sleep without hip pain or frequent trips to the bathroom. I thought sex would drop to the bottom of my to-do list after childbirth, given the recovery and sleepless nights ahead.
However, once our little one arrived, I was taken aback by how frisky I felt. Exhaustion didn’t seem to matter, nor did the fact that I was essentially wearing a maxi pad the size of a sofa cushion. Mark and I found ourselves unable to keep our hands off each other. Even during those early morning feedings, we would sneak back into bed, kissing like teenagers (which was a far cry from our actual high school days).
With my six-week postpartum checkup on the horizon, I was counting down the days like a child anticipating Christmas. I was eager for my doctor’s sign-off before we jumped back into the bedroom. When that day finally arrived, I was thrilled to hear that everything was healing well after my C-section. But then the doctor dropped a bombshell: “Just so you know, sex after pregnancy might not be great.”
Excuse me? I was practically bursting with desire!
“It might even feel like your first time all over again. It could hurt.”
I thought that was ridiculous—I barely remembered my first time. But oh my goodness, when we finally tried, it was excruciating. I was left wondering what I had gotten myself into.
A few nights later, we attempted again, this time with Mark suggesting a new position. Still uncomfortable. I wasn’t just taking it slow; I was moving at a snail’s pace. It seemed like every time we tried, it just felt like hard work, and not the enjoyable kind we had experienced before. This was a confusing and frustrating experience for me, especially since I had a C-section, so I didn’t expect to feel so tight down there—definitely not what I had anticipated after giving birth.
I reached out to some friends for advice, and they offered the usual suggestions: lube, me on top, maybe even a glass of wine. While the wine loosened me up a bit, it didn’t help much with the discomfort. And having a baby in the other room? The idea of being quiet during sex is not as intriguing as it sounds—more like a comedy of errors, trying to suppress my cries of discomfort while hoping the baby stays peacefully asleep.
Just when I thought I might lose my mind over this, we tried again. This time, surprisingly, there was no pain. I was overjoyed. But then, in the midst of the moment, I burst into tears. Mark, thinking I was in agony, stopped immediately. After calming him down and assuring him that everything was fine, we resumed. Thankfully, everything went smoothly after that. Sure, crying during sex wasn’t ideal, but I was just so relieved to finally have a pain-free experience. Each attempt after that improved, and soon enough, it felt like our old selves again.
It might take time, and everyone’s journey is different, but things do get better. Just remember to keep the noise down so you don’t wake the baby.
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