Heidi Raykeil - Confessions of a Naughty Mommy: How I Found My Lost Libido

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heres the thing. Youre young, or not so young. Youre in love. Youre naughty. You have sex madlywherever, whenever, however you can. You read poems about being each others missing piece, about completing each other. You fit. Its two against the world; youre a pair, a set, partners in crime, two in the hand, the double whammy, soul mates. Two sides of the same coin, two sides of the story, 2 hot 2 handle. Just the two of us. You are clean, efficient, parallel lines; your passion is direct, unfiltered, raw.

And then, literally overnight, two becomes three. Husband and wife becomes mother and father. Lover becomes otherother roles, other priorities, other loves. Your love life becomes awkward, unbalanced, tipping and toppling: a terribly uneven, unseemly triangle. Bye-bye, parallel lines. Bye-bye, partner in crime. Naughtiness as you know it is over. So long, leisurely mornings in bed; so long, carefree nights carousing; so long, spontaneous summertime sex. Hello, sex in the suburbs.

About five years ago, a hot summer hike turned into hot sweaty sex for my husband, JB, and me: hiked-up shirts and hiked-down shorts and us roughing it in all the right ways. Just off the trail, in the cool shade of a tanoak tree, we risked contracting poison oak in all the wrong places. Hearing other hikers headed our way only added to our heat, and with the snap of a branch, boom! Our daughter was conceived.

Although Im mostly a quiet person, I have always had a naughty side. A fun, risk-taking, whiskey-drinking, dancing-on-the-table side. A do-it-in-the-bushes side. A lap-dance-for-my-husband side. Even as a kid I had it. My imaginary friend, Herina, didnt come to play dolls and have tea parties, she came to wreak havoc, be nasty and crude, loud and mean-spirited. Then Heidi would come back and be sweet and perfect and quiet again.

Naughtiness, to me, is not just about sexalthough thats certainly a big fun part of it. Its about the little imp that sits on my shoulder and tells me to push the limits, bend the rules, take a chance. Its the Why not? side of me. Its about fun and excitement, chills and thrills, the feeling of being alive. Of course, thats not exactly compatible with the image of mothering out there: the angel on the other shoulder, sugar and spice, everything nice, Careful now, careful.

In her book The Mother Dance, Harriet Lerner says, [M]uch of psychology remains a whodunit with the finger pointed in the mothers direction. She got that right. Ultimately, were the ones blamed when our kids grow up to be on Jerry Springer. Were the ones trying to avoid that by gobbling up parenting books and Baby Einstein videos and baby sign-language classes. Manic mommies everywhere are striving for perfection, in their kids, in themselves. Were striving to hold it all together, to figure out working and not working, to choose the best schools, the best parenting styles, the best future for the people who mean more to us than anything. Its a crazy, beautiful madness that takes its toll, wears us out, and doesnt allow a whole heck of a lot of room to be naughty. Beyond that, with the baby-ization of HollywoodGwyneth Paltrow and Kate Hudson and the beautiful Desperate Housewives on Wisteria Lanewere supposed to look like a million bucks, too. But we dont have personal trainers; we have potty training. We dont have our own Nanny 911 or personal chefs; we have Chef Boyardee, and we have our hot local firefighters showing up while were in the bathroom because our toddler dialed 911 by accident, again. The glossy magazines we zone out on while were in that bathroom, hiding out, promise to help us have it all, do it all: You can be the perfect mom and the perfect wife, they assure us. You can be holy, happy, house-wifey, and a whore in the bedroom. But four and a half years ago, that sure wasnt my reality.

Four and a half years ago, my sex life tanked because I gave birth to the most beautiful, precious, gentle little person I have ever met, my daughter Ramona. And then I sat dumbstruck and watched as she completely obliterated my love life. Where once my husband and I had stayed up until 3 AM bouncing each other off the walls, now we were up at 3 taking turns bouncing her on our knees, desperate to get her back to bed.

Despite getting an extensive sex education, starting with my parents and ending with a lot of personal mistakes, I was totally unprepared for the toll motherhood would take on my marriage. This isnt to say I didnt receive plenty of information: From the minute my swollen belly announced my pregnancy to the world, people gave me advice about parenting. They told me (whether I asked or not) their thoughts on crib vs. co-sleeping, breast vs. bottle, diaper service vs. disposables. They told me Id be tired, more tired than Ive ever been before. They told me Id never regret it, that its hard, that theres nothing better.

But no one ever told me I would end up calling my husband Poppy when I used to call him lover. Or that soon Id find sleeping to be the most satisfying part of sleeping with him. No seasoned mom ever slipped a bottle of Probe or Liquid Silk into my baby shower basket with a little note letting me know that nursing can cause vaginal dryness. No one explained to me not to do it in front of mirrors that first year, or to avoid walking by stacks of dirty dishes on the way to the bedroom, or not to waste any time and just say up front, If you touch my boobs, all bets are off.

And no one warned me that having a baby was like the excitement of falling in love all over again, except with someone much younger and better smelling than my husband. No one told me that for all intents and purposes, having a baby was dangerously similar to having an affair.

In 2002, Oprah aired one of her most talked-about segments: What Your Mother Never Told You About Motherhood. I remember the excitement and tears the following day in the new moms group I had recently joined. Finally someone had discussedon national televisionwhat we had been whispering about every week. The truth about motherhood was out of the closet for us new moms: Its not all joy and onesies and warmth. Breastfeeding can be a bitch, sleep deprivation sucks, and even the best relationships take a hit when the baby shows up. Its not always easy; its not always natural. We cant all be Carol Brady or Claire Huxtable, and we cant all get off on scrapbooking and scraped knees. I watched as the books given at baby showers changed from the sunny, if rigid, What to Expect When Youre Expecting to the grittier Operating Instructions: A Journal of My Sons First Year and Breeder: Real-Life Stories from the New Generation of Mothers. Motherhood was getting a much-needed makeover, an in-your-face, warts-and-all truth-telling; the stodgy old role was being revamped and reclaimed as cool and hip.

And yetas I made my way through this new motherhood, there was one subject us savvy and swinging New Mothers still rarely heard much about (occasional