A dear friend of mine was over for dinner a few nights ago. She is a wonderful gem in my life, a true gift.
She has struggled with infertility as well, and she has been the one I always know I can go to when I just need someone to “get it.”
As we sat by the fire, drank good wine, and enjoyed decadent brownies we coined a new infertility diagnosis–PTSD–Post Traumatic Sex Disorder.
Yes, that’s right, a common disorder experienced by millions of couples going through struggles with infertility. Millions of couples for whom sex has for far too long become a means to an end. And the difficult part of the diagnosis is that PTSD can linger long after morning temperature checks and timed sex have ceased.
If you have been down this road for a year or more, heck likely even for a few months or more, you know just what PTSD is.
Seduction, isn’t that only in the movies?
Lingerie from the naughty store, who really wears those things anyways?
Kissing . . . kissing, hmm, is there such a thing as passionate kissing that extends beyond a peck?
Last night, watching “Moonstruck,” I discovered the cure for PTSD.
Cher: “Where are you taking me?”
Nicholas Cage: “To the bedroom”
Cher: “Leave nothing but the skin on my bones . . . ”
When was the last time you wore your highest heels, dawned your sexiest outfit, skipped the undergarments, and focused all of your attention on seducing the stranger across the table from you–the stranger you married?
And when was the last time that the husbands out there picked their wives up in the middle of making dinner, carried them upstairs and in response to their question: “where are you taking me?” simply said “to the bedroom”?
Passion is an essential ingredient in baby making. When month after month sex is only about an end goal, the best parts are often forgotten.
So tonight, perhaps it is time to conjure up your own little “Moonstruck,” rekindling your passion and filling your prescription for PTSD.
“When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, that’s amore. . .”