All Pregnant Women Are Super Horny All the Time? Myth: Busted

Oh, Jessica Simpson. I loved you for admitting your pregnancy cravings included weird things like salted PB&J shooters and buttered Pop-Tarts, but I can't identify with you on the sex thing—and furthermore, I'm not happy that you're contributing to the vicious rumor that all women feel extra sexy when they're pregnant.

Simpson recently said that she's getting it on like pregnant Donkey Kong these days: "I’m kind of unstoppable at the moment! ... Like the big ‘O’ is like the biggest ‘O’ ever.”

Well, as for ME, the thing I mostly remember about sex during pregnancy is how spectacularly unfair it seemed that while I was in the midst of this uncomfortable, ungainly, and totally selfless physical endeavor, I would also be expected to give it up.

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Out of all the stacks of maternity books littering every surface of our house during my first pregnancy, the ONE piece of so-called “information” my husband somehow managed to retain was that after the gaggy exhaustion of the first trimester all pregnant women got really horny.

“Not necessarily true,” I told him.

“But the book said—” he’d start, and I’d wildly flap a hand around my body, both to indicate that he observe and recognize my general state of disrepair, and also to dissipate the odor of my most recent bodily emission. Pregnancy, man.

Between the aching boobs, overtaxed bladder, digestive issues, creepily visible blue veins, puffy cankles, and sinuses that sealed completely shut for eight straight months and forced me to breathe through my mouth with tongue slightly extended, I didn’t exactly feel as though my body was a wonderland.

A loaf of Wonderbread, maybe.

I couldn’t identify with the soft-focus gently-smiling women in the maternity books who cradled their ripe bellies and were probably up for some meaningful side-position spousal action whenever their husbands so much as lowered an eyelid in their direction.

I also had vague concerns about the collateral damage the baby might sustain during a vigorous bout of lovemaking. I realized the absurdity of my thinking, yet I couldn’t help picturing our future child and the permanent indentation in his skull. Perfect for holding a small handful of M&Ms, but difficult to explain, this malformation would draw stares from the other children and grow unpleasantly moist during rainy days.

“That’s . . . uh, flattering,” my husband said when I confessed my fear of Fetal Battering Ram Syndrome. “Also, insane. But if you’re really worried about it, well, I know you’re tired and I know how much work this is, and I want you to know that I’m here for you.” He reached out and held my hand, stroking my fingers.

A hormonal surge welled up inside me, and I sniffled in gratitude. “Thanks.”

“I want you to know,” he said, staring deeply into my eyes while I basked in the purity of the moment, feeling our newfound bond as partners and soon-to-be-parents. My lover, my best friend, the father of my child. “A blow job is always a welcome option.”

Okay, 'fess up: were you unstoppable during pregnancy? Or were you more like, "STOP"?

Image via Flickr/Jenay 

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