I’m going to let you in on a little secret. Sometimes the husband and I have been known to engage in a little “adult romping time”– if you catch my drift.

I know it’s shocking, what with us having created three children and all. (I swear mom, that’s the only three times.)

During the course of our ten year relationship, the frequency and interest either of us have had in these romps have waxed and waned, as is natural over the course of time.

When we first started out, it was a little sickening. We spent such long hours making out that I used to go around with an actual sore on the end of my nose– from the skin rubbing against his stubble while we smooched. We lived twenty feet away from each other, and worked with each other, and while I am sure the home fires would have burned just as brightly if that hadn’t been the case, it didn’t help my nose any.

As different life situations have emerged, such as the death of Hubs’ mom, the constant needs of newborns, and my various health issues, interest has drastically declined for one or the other of us. It’s natural, of course, and to be expected. Though there have definitely been times in our relationship where one of us wanted more action than the other, we try to keep a level head about it. There’s nothing less sexy than getting all pouty and whiney about not getting laid.

Now that the seats and tray tables have been somewhat returned to their full (mostly) upright positions as far as my baby factory is concerned, I am finally able to think about adult romping without wanting to cry. In fact, I am thinking about adult romping much more frequently than I probably have for years, with the exception of that period of time right before Squeak was conceived. (Hence, Squeak.)

Concern about shitting yourself tends to limit one’s enthusiasm in this area.

Anywho.

It’s nice to remember that I not only love my husband, but I want him as well. (Poof. That was Hubs exploding with embarrassment. Sorry.)

But we’ve got a new problem, one we have affectionately nicknamed “LCB.”

Little Cock Block.

Every time Hubs so much as leans in to kiss me with anything more than the chastest of intentions, Squeak begins to grunt and complain loudly. He does this even when I’m not holding him– he can be asleep in his crib five feet away, and if Hubs so much as reaches his arm around me, a resounding “UNNNNNNNNNNHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH” comes from the darkness.

Now, I have had to lower my standards somewhat about what constitutes romance since I became a parent, but this is definitely not helping our mojo.  It would be funny if it weren’t so maddening.

Because life was so hectic around Squeak’s birth, Hubs was already taking more time to really bond with Squeak than he would have liked. However, the fact that this little dude is getting in the way of him getting some action is not helping the situation.

Hopefully when Squeak begins nursing a little less often and we can move him out of our room, we’ll be out of LCB Radar Range. Either that, or I am going to start putting in earplugs as foreplay, so that I don’t have to hear his patented LCB Grunt Alarm.