Interesting, I thought, coming from the man whose idea of romance includes putting "sex" in the iCal and emailing me a reminder.
"What do you have in mind?"
"How about we get a sitter and rent a room at the Holiday Inn by the Airport for a night? Maybe we could just ask them for a few hours instead of the whole night. It would be cheaper."
"Boo, that's called prostitution, not romance."
"No it's not since we're married. Why are you holding out? Not like you can get any more pregnant. The damage is already done."
That's my Boo, Tactful is his middle name.
I've never expected much in the romance department given he is a typical specimen of Southern American Redneck. Whose mating call is the revving of a diesel dually pickup truck, and mating rituals include buying pink camo for his lady to go huntin' with him and putting a pink john deere or "doe" sticker on the truck window behind his female's head.
But The Firefighter is right. Lately, I've felt like no more than the oven he puts his sperm to cook a real person and he's felt like a paycheck with honey do hands.
So I got to thinking about the Us of before kids and the Us of after kids.
In some ways, we are better after kids. We are less selfish, more in tune with each other, more likely to compromise, and we are much more likely to do helpful things for each other. We will always and forever be connected by the 3 little people we made.
But, those 2.25 kids, that we love more than life itself, are sucking the life out of us. Seriously, yo! They are like little baby vampires that suck energy instead of blood. By 7 pm, on any given night, we change into Parental Zombies.
And the hours that used to be dedicated to canoodling and intimacy, pre-children, have been replaced by bargaining and negotiations.
"If we make love, I'll fold the clothes AND put them away."
"If you leave me alone, I'll iron your uniforms."
"If we get jiggy with it, I'll fold the clothes, put them away, AND get up with The Bun for her 5 am feeding."
"Deal." Or more frequently, "Don't mess with me, I can puke on command."
Kids. They really put a damper on your sex life. Seriously. It's been downhill ever since I took the batteries out of my vibrator to put in that stupid talking Elmo a couple years ago.
Calgon, take me away! Just not to the Holiday Inn...
Any suggestions for a cheap parental getaway?