Issue #93: A new mom worries if sex will ever feel good again

Introducing our new series, Bedroom Diaries.

Written by an anonymous reader. Edited by

Aja Frost

. (Small details have been altered to protect the writer’s anonymity.)

Last week, we shared hundreds of responses to our survey on how you talk about sex with your friends. We wanted to understand everything: how often these conversations happen, how detailed they get, what makes them possible or impossible, and how they change over time. We learned most of us want to talk about sex more…

So this week, we’re continuing the conversation with a new series called Bedroom Diaries. Each episode will chronicle a week in the life of an anonymous reader — and what they get up to sexually (or don’t).

Illustration by Lucy Gutiérrez for The New Yorker

One of the topics that came up consistently in our survey: postpartum sex.

• “I'm a new mom (4.5 months postpartum) and sex and intimacy feels like a whole new ballgame.”

• “I recently saw a post on Instagram where a person was touting romance novels as saving their postpartum sex life which has been very true for me and it made me feel so validated/seen/understood in a way I didn't know I needed.”

• “Prior to having a child, I wish I’d known more about the impact that motherhood, postpartum, changing bodies, changing time constraints, everything would have on myself and my sex life.”

In our first Bedroom Diary, a 32-year-old new mom in Michigan pumps during Jeopardy!, frets over losing her pregnancy weight, and wonders if sex will ever feel good again.

Day One

• 5:45 am: My alarm goes off. I try to silence it as quickly as possible because the baby still sleeps in our room. Didn’t work and she’s up. After she eats and falls back asleep, I lay her gently next to my husband, D.

• 7:00 am: I shower and then tip-toe back into the bedroom to kiss both of them goodbye. My eyes fill with tears, but I make it out the door. Only three minutes behind schedule.

• 8:48 am: D. texts me that he already can’t wait for me to get home.

• 12:30 pm: My 60-year-old coworker swings by my office to gossip. We chat about the weather, our upcoming work party, and how the only guy on our team always passes off tasks to other people.

• 3:23 pm: I physically cannot be at work for another minute — my daughter needs to eat by 4. Will my coworkers notice I now leave ten minutes early every day? Will they get it? I need to get home to feed my baby. That sounds so dramatic, but it’s also true? Whatever, I’m leaving.

• 6:40 pm: I make salad with chicken while D. puts the baby to bed. It’s easy, but I still follow the recipe I found online. My neuroses keep me measuring out a half cup of pistachios instead of eyeballing it. Why am I like this? I sit on the couch and eat while I hear the baby crying upstairs. D. won’t mind that I started without him. When I was pregnant I dreaded the thought of these moments — a solo dinner, a crying baby. But now I realize they’re not so bad.

• 9:00 pm: While we watch Jeopardy!, I pump. I sweep a category, and D. kisses me on the cheek.

• 9:30 pm: We get into bed. I face the wall and look at my phone while D. rubs my back. He whispers something, but I can’t hear him over the sound machine. He tries again, telling me he loves me and I’m an amazing mom. He’s whispering so close to my ear it feels almost sexual.

• 11:33 pm: The baby is crying. D. is shushing her. I am half asleep, rubbing D.’s back as he leans over into the crib.

Day Two

• 1:30 am: Baby is crying. More shushing, more back rubbing.

• 3:30 am: Baby is crying. More shushing, more back rubbing. D. is using his phone flashlight to find the pacifier that’s fallen somewhere on the ground.

• 5:00 am: Baby is crying. I decide I’ll feed her now, so sick of the crying and restless night and terrified somehow she’s lost all of her sleep skills. I feed her, and she falls asleep. I lay her in between us, and D. and I touch feet since we can’t cuddle anymore.

• 5:45 am: Alarm goes off.

• 7:00 am: I kiss the baby and D. goodbye. She’s cooing on the changing table in her diaper. Her belly is so delicious; I hate that I have to leave. I walk back into our room to look in the mirror one more time. My sweatshirt makes me look frumpy. I hate how these jeans look. Have they always been this unflattering? Am I gaining weight? My coworkers are probably going to look at me and think that I’m having a hard time losing “the weight.” Ugh, I hate how the crotch of these pants is bunching. Okay, okay, bodies are bodies, my body is neutral, it will change to something close to pre-pregnancy. I put on a different sweatshirt anyway and head out the door. Five minutes late.

• 7:21 am: D. sends me a picture of the baby and tells me he misses me. “So cute,” I respond to the photo. He tells me her face is beautiful like mine. Is he being serious? Or sarcastic? Is that so sweet? Or cringey?

• 7:35 am: I walk quickly to my office and notice that my coworker still isn’t here. Why do I care so much about being on-time if no one else does?!

• 9:40 am: I’m finishing up with an employee who’s having a terrible time with their manager. I feel my bra and my shirt. I’ve leaked through both. I try to wrap things up quickly but compassionately and tell the next person I’m meeting — who is very rigid about timing — that I may be five minutes late. I shut and lock my office door, turn off the lights, and start pumping while looking at pictures of my baby. I can’t wait that long tomorrow. At least this time I didn’t leak through my sweatshirt.

• 3:17 pm: I’m glancing out the window of my office and notice my boss backing up out of her parking space. This is amazing. I’m leaving now.

• 8:53 pm: After I brush my teeth, I give D. a hug — more because I need one than I want to give one. “I feel sad today,” I tell him. “I hate looking at myself in the mirror right now.” D. kisses the top of my head and says he’s always hated that mirror and we should get rid of it. He takes it off the wall and turns it around, then tells me I’m beautiful and he loves me. I feel relieved. But also guilty. What did I do to deserve him? We get into bed.

Day Three

• 5:45 am: I don’t know why I even bother setting my alarm anymore. The baby is already cooing because she knows it’s time to eat.

• 9:20 am: I’m in a boring benefits planning meeting. My coworker leans over to me and whispers, “Do you have any new pics of your daughter?” I tap my phone to show her my wallpaper, and she gasps. We smile at each other.

• 4:45 pm: A friend comes over to work out. I’ve been back in a workout routine for a few weeks now, but nothing feels the way it used to. She starts the warm up with jumping jacks, and I immediately leak. Will I have to go back to pelvic floor therapy? I ask myself this a lot. I don’t want the hassle. And I’m also worried I’m still not “better” or somehow fixed from pregnancy/labor.

• 6:00 pm: It’s my turn to cook, but I really don’t want to. D. insists we order sushi. When it arrives, I’m so hungry I barely say a word as we eat.

• 8:57 pm: I take a shower and get into bed to pump. I hate waiting the fifteen extra minutes before I can fall asleep.

Day Four

• 6:00 am: The baby has finished nursing, but I climb back into bed for ten more minutes. I don’t care if I’m late to work, and I don’t care if this makes me even sleepier. I cuddle up against D. He barely stirs. I’m so envious of those extra minutes of sleep.

• 2:05 pm: My boss knocks on my office door. I unlock it, and she asks if I’m ready to run the performance review training. Clearly she didn’t see my text asking her to start so I could pump. I tell her I’ll be out in three minutes.

• 5:30 pm: We leave the baby with a babysitter to meet friends for dinner. I’m giddy to order a cocktail. Our friends — who are also postpartum — ask if we’ve tried having sex yet. They have, but they say things still feel weird. I’m grateful they asked so I know it’s not just us who haven't immediately gotten back to normal. Though I’m still worried they are trying more often than we are. Am I just not a very horny person anymore? Maybe we should try again tonight. The margarita is kicking in. I’d be down to have sex. But I also can’t wait to get home and go right to sleep.

• 8:30 pm: We walk home from dinner, just a little tipsy. The snow is coming down quickly. I can’t wait to see our daughter. D. makes a joke and I crack up, then slip on the snowy brick and fall. I pee a little, my damn pelvic floor continuing to fail me.

• 9:15 pm: I pump in bed while reading my Kindle. D. is next to me looking at his phone. We fall asleep in our usual spooning position.

Day Five

• 8:00 am: I wake up and turn over. D. and the baby are both stirring, too. I creep downstairs to turn the coffee on.

• 11:20 am: I’m showering while the baby lays on the bed and watches the fan. D. is looking at me through the glass shower door. He tells me I look great. I say that I think things are looking better. Doesn’t he think my body is looking better? He tells me to take the great.

• 12:40 pm: We’re driving to meet friends for lunch. D. says we should have sex soon. “I was thinking the same thing,” I say. Is that why he told me I looked great earlier? He was trying to butter me up? No, he says, he saw me in the shower and thought I looked hot and that he wanted to have sex later. “Oh, okay,” I say, mollified.

• 4 pm: We’re hanging out with some friends. D. reaches over to hold my hand. There are a few things I love more than holding hands.

• 8:30 pm: We are brushing our teeth. D. asks if I still want to “do stuff.” I say yes.

• 8:35 pm: I get into the bed in our guest room. As D. walks in, I urgently remind him to turn the lights off. He asks whether my boobs are on or off limits. I just pumped, so on. D.’s on top. He puts on some of the lube we bought and slowly goes inside me. It hurts but I try to push through. I’m using my vibrator which helps. He pulls out after I come, and I use my hand to help him finish.

• 9:05 pm: We are snuggling in the guest room, still naked. “I feel like my vagina is different now,” I say. “Like, they sewed it up weird. Have you noticed that?” D. turns on his iPhone flashlight. “Where?” I point. “This fold and this fold. Do you think they gave me a vaginoplasty? I liked my folds before. I feel like they took some liberties.” He says maybe he sees it a little. Does this happen to everyone? We decide to Google it.

• 9:10 pm: We’re cackling at Reddit threads of women describing their new vaginas. This feels more intimate than the sex did. We walk back into our bedroom and fall asleep with our daughter in her crib next to us.

Day Six

• 8:40 am: I wake up alone in our bed. D. let me sleep in after the morning feed. I lean over to get my phone but realize I’d rather hang out with him and the baby. I roll out of bed — my shirt soaked on the side I didn’t feed from yet — grab my glasses, and head downstairs.

• 11 am: I text a mom friend who’s recovering from mastitis: “How are your boobs?”

• 1:15 pm: I take the baby for a long walk while D. does some work. She falls asleep and I enjoy the peaceful movement while thinking about the chores I need to do when I get home. What am I going to make for lunches this week? I really want to reorganize the area above the washing machine. I need to vacuum the basement. I’m so tired; maybe I should just take a nap when I get back.

• 7:00 pm: I finish making dinner while D puts our daughter down. I decided to make him a dinner that uses more than one pan. I hear her shrieking upstairs but try to focus on breading the chicken and steaming the spinach.

• 9:30 pm: I finish pumping and watch ten minutes of a show while D rubs my back. I tell him I think we should get chickens. He laughs, says absolutely not, but I can tell he’s entertained by the thought of taking care of more living creatures.

Day Seven

• 3:30 pm: I’m on my drive home. I call my parents to say hello. My mom tells me about a funeral she went to. She cries as she recites part of the eulogy. I feign interest — she didn’t even know this person — but the eulogy did have a touching last line.

• 7:30 pm: After dinner, D and I snuggle on the couch. “I think we should try to have sex again,” I say, knowing he will want to immediately.

• 8:30 pm: We creep into the guest room and climb under the covers. We start kissing when we hear a cry coming from the bedroom. D. leaps out of bed to put a pacifier in our daughter’s mouth. A few minutes later, he’s back. He asks if he can go down on me. I say yes, but I’m nervous — like I used to feel with boys I barely knew, worried about their judgement. When he’s done, I return the favor. It’s been a while since I went down on him. I realize it’s actually kind of nice. We have sex, and he can go a little deeper than he did before… but it still doesn’t feel good. I worry if it will ever feel good again. Is this normal? Am I going to have to go back to pelvic floor therapy??

Aliza and Jude, December 2022 (Photo credit: Emily Boudreau)

I (Aliza) felt an enormous sense of comfort reading this story. Sex certainly felt different after I’d had Jude… and it’s evolved again now that Sam and I are trying (and battling secondary infertility) to have another kid. What resonated with you? We’d love to hear.

Want to write your own Bedroom Diary?

We’re looking for honest, thoughtful accounts of relationships, intimacy, and daily life. If you're interested in sharing your story, please fill out this short form. Selected writers will work with Aja to craft and polish their diaries while maintaining anonymity. While the process requires openness to feedback and revision, we’ll ensure you're comfortable with the final piece before publication.

---

If you enjoy reading Platonic Love, there are a few ways to let us know: “like” this post, leave a comment, buy us a coffee, or upgrade to a Paid subscription. We read and appreciate every single comment, mention, and subscriber note. Thanks for all of your support!