Footsie

By Risa Goldstein

Jeffrey and I were lying in bed one morning, luxuriating in an exceptionally rare, child-free moment, when my mind began to wander. I went back a mere 7 years, “BC” (before conception), when WE were the priority and affection was still high on the list of domestic requirements, somewhere between food and paying the rent.

Had I known that one day intimacy might become just another chore to cross off my list, like dishes and laundry, I might have thought twice about the whole kid thing -- I know Jeffrey certainly would have. At this point (a week before our 10-year wedding anniversary), thanks to the two big-eyed mini-dictators ruling our lives, Jeffrey and I might as well be best friends, buddies to the end.

Why didn’t anyone tell us that passion was something that would be constantly negotiated and appraised? That the course of our intimacy would spiral from nightly to weekly to “Who are you again?”

Jeffrey hasn’t had any problems transitioning from lovers to parents. His appetite is insatiable. I can be stinky, sweaty, covered in play-dough, and sleep-deprived (when am I not sleep-deprived?), and he’s ready at the word “go”.

But lack of sleep isn't the problem. “BC” Jeffrey and I were often sleepless, but we always managed a groggy fling. Even now I pass on precious sleep hours just to stare mindlessly at the TV, savoring a few moments of child-free time. When I finally crawl into bed, all I want to do is to just lay there for a minute or two with no one touching me!

The problem is that I haven’t equated free time with “fooling around” since the last time we were trying to conceive. Don’t get me wrong. Our story is not a completely sexless one (I suppose it would quickly become a divorce story if it were so). No, I like being intimate as much as Jeffrey does. Really, I do. I adore Jeffrey and find him extremely attractive. I just don’t need it as frequently as he does.

At the end of the day it takes me longer to unwind and shake off the never-ending demands of parenthood. Plus, there’s just nothing in the word “mom” that inspires passion in me. It’s not that I don’t love being a mom; it is a rewarding but exhausting job. It’s that I miss playing footsie with Jeffrey, our toes leading up the leg to. . .

Nowadays, we’re on such opposite schedules that we’re rarely in the same room after the girls are asleep. Long ago, when neither of us could imagine letting the other go to bed alone, that was one of the best parts of being married. In bed, we’d cuddle and talk...about wishes, dreams, troubles. Sometimes we wouldn’t talk at all, but even then we were together.

Before we became a family, Jeffrey was my husband, my confidant. We used to write each other love letters, page after page of flowery prose. Now we write each other to-do notes; “Trash on Tuesday,” or “Pick up Shayna from ballet on Thursday”.

With all this in mind, I’m hoping we can make a few changes in our daily routines -- do something to halt the desire-drought in our lives and remind us why we got married in the first place. I’m going to make sure that we kiss before Jeffrey leaves for work every morning, take a minute to start the day off right. And when he comes home from work, we’ll hug. Simple as that. I’m not asking for a long, passionate dip, just 10 seconds of Jeffrey and me, the world melting away. Then later, during that magical time when the girls are asleep safely in their rooms and I can do anything I want without distraction, I’ll turn off the TV and stop watching other people have meaningful, passionate relationships. Maybe I’ll even convince Jeffrey to come to bed at the same time as me. We can play footsie, our toes leading up the leg to...

Risa Goldstein is a writer/editor who spent 14 years in the New York publishing industry before "retiring" to sunny Southern California with her husband and their two amazing daughters. She can be reached at She can be reached at risa@familymanonline.com.