The Two Orgasm a Day Diet #2: You Sexy Mama, You

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As I type this from my station on the sofa (AKA “my home office”), my newborn Love Child is sweetly snuffling and stirring in the bassinet a few feet away. And my loverloverman has my feet in his lap AND HE’S MASSAGING THEM.

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My life is an endless orgasm right now.

I am all full up. Blissed out. Fulfilled. My spirit, my psyche, my sexuality – as a woman, lover, mother – is utterly, entirely nourished. I am nourished.

Which is what divine wise woman/life poet/coach/heart friend Liane Raymond tells me orgasm actually means: the sanskrit root of orgasm means “nourish”.

And that is EXACTLY what I’m trying to get at with The Two Orgasm a Day Diet. I want all of us to be our most luscio us, fulfilled, nourished selves. I want us all to revel in the pleasures of our skin and flesh and imaginings and action and use that place of pleasure and power as fuel for every adventure and aspect of our lives.

AND I want us to know that  being sexy doesn’t have to be a bit part in a Girls Gone Wild loop. You don’t have to flash titty to be titillating (but you can if you want to but please make sure it’s you who wants to and that it gives you pleasure ). You don’t have to fall within the cultural parameters of “hot” to be hot. You don’t have to be the thinnest or most conventionally pretty woman in the room to be the sexiest woman in the motherfucking building.

Now let’s talk about “motherfucking”. I lovehate that phrase. It makes me uncomfortable. It delights me. The very fact that this phrase is used as a curse tells us so much: that it is a slip, a degradation, to have sex with a mother. And that, in turn, tells us that mothers are unfuckable, not sexy, not sexually desirable…and given the conflation of attractiveness with a woman’s worth in our world, that means that women who are mothers are themselves not valuable.

(MILF denotes much the same thing. There’s implicitly surprise built into the acronym. Like, WHAT? My dick gets hard for a mother?! Can’t be!)

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OMIGOD now my loverloverman just told me loves my feet, that they’re soft and cute.  Could this moment, this life, get better?

(I’m totally tipping the pedicurist more next time.)

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Which, I think, is one of the reasons we worry about our appearance and our sex lives after mothering. Beyond just the physical challenges and constraints of mothering – dear Reader, I am currently inhabiting a restless place about 60 wretched miles past exhausted and my sexiest fantasy involves eight hours of uninterrupted sleep – we grapple with the cultural message that now we are unfuckable. And therefore un-valuable.

(As opposed to invaluable, which is actually the truth of the matter.)

And it’s not just a cultural message. That’s the thing about cultural norms and media messages: there’s no way to know ourselves outside of them. They are outside of us and inside of us. They are part of us and we are part of them. They’re ingrained into our memories, expectations, flesh and spirit.

But the one that says mothers aren’t sexy is just not true.

Or at least it doesn’t have to be true.

(Don’t let it be true for you.)

self portrait entitled "I just had a baby six days ago. Yes, I did."

Because mothering can be miraculous, divine, and empowering. As an extraordinary woman I know says, ”Superman can leap tall buildings in a single bound. I can nourish small humans using only my breasts”. And so the physical, biological side of mothering – being pregnant, giving birth (or, alternately, having an entire human carved from my abdominal cavity WHILE I AM STILL CONSCIOUS), breastfeeding - divorces me from twenty years of bodily doubt and marries me to marvel at my own physical prowess. All my suspicions or long-held convictions that my body is flawed dissolve in the soup of awe and wonder. I am a wunderkind. A wonder woman. I make people, people!

And then I do the real work of mothering, which of course isn’t necessarily embedded in the physical viscera of wombs and boobs and birth (there is so much more to mothering than fertility and biology). I rise four times a night to feed a hungry little person. And then I get up at 6am to feed two more hungry little people and get them to school. And then I feed them several more times a day. And that’s the least of it all.

I digress.

My point: becoming a mother and marveling at what my body is capable of – what I am capable of – freed me from physical insecurities, insecurities which inhibited the sexuality of my early adulthood.

And I suspect that this is true of other physical experiences that might (erroneously) be presumed to be sexually catastrophic. In any woman’s life there are other accidents, occurrences, scars, diagnoses and recoveries that apparently devastate our attractiveness while actually connecting us to our physical strength, sensuality and life-reverence and relish.

And so the very thing that probably “ruined” my body – the stretch marks, the c-section scars, the weight gain (I have baby weight that is now school age) – made me sexier. In my own mind. And that’s where The Two Orgasm a Day Diet starts.

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Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to remove my feet from the lap of my loverloverman – I’ll straddle it instead – and kiss him ’til he can taste how much I love, adore and desire him.

Or until the baby wakes up.

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About the author

Kelly Diels I'm Kelly Diels. I'm a writer, the founder of Cleavage (The Lines that Shape Us), and I wrote this blog post just for you. You can also find me on Twitter and darlin', please do. xoxo, K

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