i am pretty sure i said at least one really deep thing in this post

When last we met, blogworld, Kortney and Nerissa commented about how the sluttier you are, the sluttier you feel. And that is true. (They worded it differently.) A friend of mine liked to say that sex keeps love in a marriage. I liked to tell her to shut it.

Now, onto the issue of whether all/most men would prefer more frequent boots-knockings. I don't know if any of you remember Everyday Superhero... she took down her blog about a year ago, but she and her husband had gone for some insane 100 days of sex challenge. My baby canal hurts just thinking about it. But anyway, Jason and I decided to try that too. We got to day 3 and were both DONE. I wonder if the myth (if it is one) of the insatiable man might be as damaging to all of us as the now-defunct myth that a chaste woman won't enjoy intercourse.

For most of us (I'm assuming most of my readers are mothers -- caretakers of children if not legal mothers -- between the ages of 25-45, pre-menopausal) we're either still in the hormone swells of pregnancy/postpartum breastfeeding/weaning sleep deprivation, or we're just out of it. Our partners, while probably equally sleep deprived, have been somewhat removed from the intensity of the hormone surges of early motherhood.

Someone -- one of you, I think -- recently posted on Facebook about how her husband didn't understand the physical discomfort their crying child caused his/her mother. That's intense stuff, and I think it would be hard for someone to understand the difference between hearing an upset child, and actually feeling the child's emotions, out of control and convoluted and windblown as they often are.

The other thing: our freakish post-baby bodies. Especially those of us with multiples, but to some extent almost everyone's body takes a beating. For me at least, it was awkward to look like my 27-year-old self with my clothes on, but once my clothes came off I looked like someone's great-grandma's torso skin had been loosely grafted onto my abdomen and don't look now because that shit is about to slide off! My need for alcoholic aphrodisiacs was redoubled.

Which brings us back to Jason's and my Sexiest Loser (he named it) competition. He bought peppered turkey and then discovered he hates it, so he was hungry at work tonight and ate cake. IN YOUR FACE, LOSER! I am doing jumping jacks as I type.

**Giant apologies to my former coworker, Professor Mondo, who I linked to my blog last Friday and then promptly began posting about sex. Because the Professor is a man and therefore not intimately acquainted with great-grandmother torso graft waterfall phenomenon. He's also way smart and so I have a glimmer of hope that I am actually talking beneath his level of comprehension. But he did bill me on his blog as "Erma Bombeck meets Tallulah Bankhead," and said I could use that in my blog's promotional literature, so I had to work that in here somehow. I made much dumber choices, but I think my IQ was higher back when we worked together.