One Mom’s Tale of Taking Sexy Back with Spontaneous Morning Delight
Cheers to getting it on!
Author’s note: The following story is a work of fiction inspired by hysterical conversations I have had throughout the years with fellow friends and fellow parents.
The sound of my kids’ voices slowly disappears in the distance as they scramble down the street to catch the bus. It’s 7:13 a.m., and I am minutes away from two hours of alone time. These next one hundred and twenty minutes are mine for the taking. I cannot wait to put myself into a self-induced trance while staring mindlessly at the wall for ten minutes followed by a steamy shower where I will belt out Adele songs into my shampoo bottle. I may even take a walk on the wild side and throw the Today show on in the background as I clean up the morning mess, and plot what we will have for dinner tonight.
According to my Apple watch, my hubby is leaving for work in one minute. Being in my empty house for a few hours is not only a slice of heaven but the fuel I need to get through the rest of my day.
I’m queuing up a life-changing podcast that I plan on squeezing in later this morning when my husband’s voice shatters my train of thought. I hear my name echoing down the stairwell. Come again, I say to myself. The only words I should hear right now are: “Bye, have a great day.”
Did we run out of shampoo? Are there no clean towels? What? This guy should be running top speed down the steps and hopping in his car right now. I stomp across the kitchen to the bottom of the stairs to investigate why I am being summoned at 7:16 a.m. I am now down to 119 minutes, and my heart rate is starting to rise. However, my bitchy glare is not met with a request to warm up the car for him. Instead, he is gazing down at me lazily with some serious bedroom eyes.
Is this some form of a practical joke? I would be more than thrilled to accommodate his wanting eyes any other time of the day, just not now. Can’t the bedroom festivities wait until tonight, or better yet, how about a bit of “rise and shine” action before the kids get up tomorrow. Mingling with this man at this hour will throw my tightly scripted schedule off track and I have zero minutes to spare. Even a nooner would be better than now. Is this guy insane?
I’m sorry, but I don’t recall Al Roker reporting a heat advisory today as I tear off my syrup-stained shirt and toss it on the floor.
It turns out my husband is in fact sane because, despite the serrated daggers in my eyes, he is not budging. So much for being turned off by ratty sweat pants and greasy hair. And, instead of just coming out and saying what he really wants to do before work, vague phrases are thrown around such as “Come upstairs for a minute” and “Can you help me with something?”
Now, what am I supposed to do? The dishes are waiting for me and I haven’t even stared at the wall yet. And how on earth am I supposed to change my life if I can’t listen to that damn podcast before leaving the house?
This potentially could be fun or even hot without the kids around. I try to pull it together. No, I tell myself firmly. The only thing hot right now is the dryer. Perhaps we can have an epic folding session in the laundry room instead of dirtying up our bedroom sheets? Whatever, I mutter to myself as I walk heavily up the stairs like a five-year-old who just lost a bedtime battle. Maybe he did run out of shampoo.
When I reach the top of the steps I see my husband standing in the doorway of our bedroom with no sign of empty hair products. A towel is loosely wrapped around his waist and his skin is damp from his shower. He is staring at me so ravenously; my cheeks feel flushed and I forget about the dirty shirt I’m sporting from breakfast duty. The thought of turning around and going back to the monotonous vibe that’s loitering down below now seems unthinkable.
I kick a misplaced stuffed animal out of my way and land in my husband’s muscular arms (did I mention he lifts very heavy weights in his spare time?). The steam from the shower is lingering. I suddenly feel alive and like I’m in the tropics with all that heat down below. (I’m sorry, but I don’t recall Al Roker reporting a heat advisory today as I tear off my syrup-stained shirt and toss it on the floor.) I spy my silhouette in the hallway mirror out of the corner of my eye and think damn…I look good right now. And while I’m in the business of throwing dirty laundry around in a suggestive manner and getting aroused by my own throbbing body parts, I ensure with my very own hands that my husband’s bath towel joins the risque pile of clothes beneath my feet. The kids are gone, the doors are locked, and my Adele concert is officially on hold.
Fast forward an hour: the bubbles in the kitchen sink have all deflated and the Today show is on commercial break. I still have 58 minutes left before I need to leave for the day. In the back of my mind, I can’t help but wonder about tomorrow morning’s free time. I have an inkling that the shampoo will be out during my husband’s shower and he may even call out my name to fetch him some more. There will be no hostile stair climbing or resting bitch face this time. Nope. I will be coming in clutch with a fresh bottle and, if he’s lucky, a private Adele concert.
Kelly Fredericks is a former Behavior Analyst and current writer. She is the creator of Dear Mr. Hemingway, LLC, a literary website for the everyday reader where she overshares about books she loves. Her writing is fun, witty, and accessible to everyone. This summer Kelly launched DMH~Pages Well Paired, a curated gift box for book lovers. She is happily married and a mom to three boys.
