When It Comes to Sex My Husband Has Alzheimer’s

When a kid comes along the sex life starts to dwindle. I’m not proud of it. I always said that I would never be the mom who doesn’t work out, who doesn’t get weekly mani/pedis, or who doesn’t have [enough] sex with my husband…but I am that mom. Life gets in the way.

I’m not making excuses, but I guess I am, I mean, I work full time (not that SAHMs don’t have it just as hard if not harder), I race home to make dinner, pack bags, spend a little time with my two-year old who is growing like a weed, I write a blog, I’m trying to sell a book AND keep up with the Kardashians, not to mention reading the latest books, i.e., currently reading 50 Shades of Grey.

I’m not proud of it, I do try to make my marriage a priority, but I just can’t do it all. At the end of all this I’m exhausted. Hell, I’m exhausted just thinking about it. I fall into bed, and not in a cute Victoria’s Secret get up, but in my lounge pants and tee and wrap myself up in my blankie (yes, at 33 I do have a blankie, and I love it). My husband loathes it and says: “I can’t even get next to you! You’re wrapped in this cocoon.” He proceeds to claim he ‘hates this thing’ and wants to burn it.

I don’t write a lot about my marriage out of respect for my husband and my bonus daughters, but I do think it’s important to share that marriage is hard. We all know it’s hard. It takes work. I leave my full time job to come home and work a job at home and that is being a wife and a mother and its fucking exhausting.

I’m not complaining though. Two years ago I was complaining. I was drowning and couldn’t pull myself out of the tide that sucked me in and was bringing me down. Two years ago I wanted to run away from it all.

Now I relish in it all and drink when I need to. I have an amazing husband – I mean he puts up with me after all and I’m sort of a pain in the ass. I have an amazing daughter who is seriously perfect in every which way. I have amazing bonus daughters and parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins…you know those big Italian families that love you and love to fight with you.

And while I love it all it’s not to say that there aren’t struggles along the way. And one of those struggles is making sure I don’t neglect my husband.

It’s not that I don’t enjoy sex or don’t want to have sex it’s that I’m exhausted. All the time. I get plenty of rest, I eat well, I take my Omega 3s, Vitamin B and Probiotics…I’m not exercising as much as I should these days, but I do go for walks and clean up after a husband, a child and two cats.

It never fails that night rolls around and after I’ve completed my daily tasks I fall into bed completely drained. Hubs rolls over and give me the eye. You know the eye…the let’s do it baby eye.

And then I have to look into those big hazel eyes, throw my arms up in the air and say, “We just did it!”

Like a child being told that Santa Claus doesn’t exist I see his hopes and dreams shattered. I’ve destroyed him.

“What do you mean we just did it?” He tugs at the covers hard to show his displeasure. (See husbands are a lot like 2-year-olds. They express their pleasure and displeasure in very similar mannerisms.)

“What do you mean, ‘what do you mean’?” I ask, picking up 50 Shades of Grey.

“Isn’t that book supposed to make you like horny?”

I look at him in disgust. He picks up his video game remote control, and I settle into 50 Shades. He’s mumbling now…something along the lines of “It’s been 2 weeks.”

“Uh-hem,” I clear my throat, exaggerating the hem, “We just did it last week.”

“Uhhhh…no we didn’t.”

“Yes, we did.”

“No, we didn’t.”

Now we’re fighting like children.

The sex calendar

To prove my point I consult the calendar the next day. I say very sweetly, “Honey, I’d like you to know that I’m going to start a sex calendar.”

He laughs because he’s the one who supposedly started a sex calendar years ago. I say supposedly because I’ve never seen said calendar so who knows if it really exists?

I point to the calendar. “We did it on Friday.”

“Friday? What are you talking about? It was more like Monday or Tuesday.”

“Wrong. We did it Friday.”

See, what happened was I made the mistake of promising sex in the afternoon. I was trying to add some spice so-to-speak so when I spoke to him at lunch I mentioned watching the Bears/Packers game, having a couple beers, putting the Chiquita to bed, and so on.

And this is exactly why you don’t make promises to children. Or husbands.

After work I had a meeting for the Alzheimer’s Association. I’m driving home and its dark, cold and rainy. I was trying really hard to wake back up. I walked in the door and shouted, “Hello!” in the Jerry Seinfeld voice that we do with the Chiquita. She runs into the kitchen uber excited yelling, “Mommy!”

This is great!

I open a beer, I put on my new jammies (not lounge pants and a tee BTW), I cut some cheese to snack on, and I sit down next on the couch. Then I proceeded to get up 100 times…to feed the cats, to get the Chiquita a snack, to get the Chiquita more to drink, to put on the Chiquita’s Bears jersey. I haven’t even had 3 sips of beer and it’s now the 2nd quarter!

Me and the Chiquita…Gooo Bears!

“Are you even going to sit down?” Hubs asks me.

“Well, I’d like to but someone has to attend to the child,” I say rather snotty. And it’s not that he didn’t do anything all night, I mean, he came home from work and was on kid duty until I walked in the door at 7:15 pm. It’s just I walked in the door and got plowed over by everyone needing something, which always seems to happen. I can’t even walk in the door and take a pee until everyone is attended to.

Finally it’s the middle of the 2nd quarter, the Bears are turning out a dismal performance, and I just finished my beer. I sit there and think: Holy shit, I’m exhausted. My head sort of hurt, my eyes were closing…I kept thinking I just wanted to lay in bed and get wrapped up in my blankie.

And then I did the worst thing a wife can do.


My husband says, “We’re not doing it tonight, are we?”

“mmejkd;arjea;kar,” I mumbled, which meant, No baby, I’m so sorry, I love you so much, I’m just exhausted.

The story of our life.

But I redeemed myself. The next morning I woke up before my alarm to surprise him with a morning quickee. I felt like the best wife ever because normally I snooze about 3-4 times and never ever ever do I wake up early, not even to go to Dunkin Donuts for an iced coffee. I sleep as late as I can possibly sleep and then run around like a nut in the morning trying to get out the door. This is every single day.

So you can imagine my husband’s surprise when the alarm didn’t go off, yet I was up and at ‘em.

I point hard at the calendar.

“Friday! Remember? Jeez…it obviously wasn’t that memorable for you!”

“Friday. You’re right,” He says with a big grin across his face.

“Now maybe you’ll re-think all those ‘we never do it’ complaints because the proof will be on this calendar. Right here!” I say, again pointing at the calendar.

He walks out of the room yelling “I love you! I do love you” over his shoulder.

And I love him. 🙂