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A corporate lawyer & working mom who is handy with words. Unafraid of the messiness of a fully engaged life. Blogging for the fellow working woman.

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The Reality of Postpartum Sex Life

Posted by Chio on July 31, 2020August 4, 2020

A brief video of couples sharing their real postpartum experience with postpartum sex. There is no nudity. Just snapshots of the real experiences of real people.

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We fight like cat and dog every day multiple times a day, and every day, we end up here...

I heard this song #PurpleHat for the first time in 2020 during the virtual #globalcitizenconcert and fell in love with it immediately. It's on my faves list with Westlife, Andrea Bocelli, Tiwa Savage, Beanie, Michael Buble, Sauti Sol, Oliver Mtukudzi, Amanda Black and many many more. My taste in #music is... eclectic.

The working mother conundrum counts as #CareerTuesday right?

In 2021, I discussed a #running challenge with a friend. They were much faster than me. I was running about 8min/km then. I said, "there's no chance I will run a km in under 6 minutes, so I'm just going to focus on running 100km this month." Turns out I was wrong. There was a chance, and it depended heavily on consistency and time. At the beginning of the #12weekyear I was running approximately 7min/km. I have watched my stats improve slowly and consistently these past few weeks. Now I not only run a km in under 6min, I run all 6 of them at the same speed. I'm so so so chuffed. There's something to this challenge. Something very very effective. I'm going to embrace identifying myself as a fitish runner 😂

#TinaTurner ... what an innings you batted. You will never know the fires you lit and lives you saved simply by living as best as you knew how🤍🤍🤍

How to stay humble: decide you want to grow. That stuff will humble you... repeatedly. Anyway, it's only right to end an intense work week with a work photo.

Lately, my soul is nagging me. It wants something. I'm not sure what. I also have not been paying close attention. Maybe that's what it wants... attention. For me to sit with it, talk with it, feed it. Maybe it's time to unshelve the questions I parked for a while. Have I lost my trust in the Church and religion entirely on account of a handful of humans? Do I really never want to get married again, or am I just traumatized? A lot of people think they know the answer for me. Society's bond with marriage is strong. So, never mind marriage, maybe (but also, I'm pretty sure). Do I even want to date? Have I done enough to protect my kids in the event of my death? Am I holding my babies enough? Am I loving them the way they need me to? Am I an imposter? I feel like enjoying a quiet birthday this year... again. Am I just avoiding people... again? Am I enjoying my solitude too much? Is there such a thing as enjoying solitude too much?

Do you remember being born? I do. Not by my mother, of course. I have been born many times since then. I remember every one of those times. I remember because a rebirth requires my presence. I was there. I was there pushing and heaving with the universe. I was there in the glorious glow and mess of afterbirth and fourth trimesters. I was there for all of it. I also know that every rebirth brings with it the knowledge that another will come. It always does. I like this one, though. She makes me feel like winking at her in the mirror. Sometimes I do. I'm going to enjoy this version while I wait for the next.

I discovered and embraced my love for flowers in my 30s. I used to associate them with funerals only... or thought I did. As I face the fact that I have denied the things I wanted deep down to myself and others for many years simply because I feared I could never be worthy of receiving them, I find myself receiving them and loving them. The Universe is funny. I don't live in anticipation of rejection anymore. What is mine will be mine. What isn't, will not. I think this is freedom.

Father God. Let those who have eyes see and those who have ears listen. Amen.

A #12weekyear update is in order, I think. I'm just at the end of week 7 of my 1st 12-week year, so everything is new to me. In the first 4 weeks, my greatest takeaway was planning little things in advance creates far more time and capacity than I realised. I now have a standard alarm that reminds me to take out my running kit for the next day. This includes hair bands, socks, & sunscreen. I don't waste time looking for the "good" sports bra at go time. In fact, I'm ready & out the door before my brain even wakes up most days. I also already know what I will do& I have applied myself to creating Playlists in advance. Figuring out little things when it's time to work out takes longer than the actual workout. Remove the friction.

I'm nowhere near ready to tackle the depth of raising a child who is on the spectrum but I can manage a snapshot once in a while. Late last year we were looking for a new school for Nate. He had outgrown what his ABA centre could offer. I remember visiting the school it was proposed that he go to. I remember an unease as I arrived. I remember the "this is how I talk to crazy people" talk-whisper way the teacher he was assigned to used. It made me want to scream. I remember her saying "we are so proud of him. He managed to put gold stars on a zig zag line." I wondered whether to tell her Nate could do basic math. Then she said, "this is a great place for him. Some of our students even end up sorting beans or lentils in factories." I was shattered. It wasn't that that is what some of their students end up doing. It was wondering how many of their students they categorized without ever getting to know them. How many were written off based on an assumption of their capacity. How many were spoken to like they are crazy by people who didn't see anything but their disorder. I was barely holding it together when I got into the car. I called my brother, and I sobbed until it felt like my soul was tearing. My brother instructed me to pull over & he listened quietly while I rode out the storm. I ended up at Mugg&Bean. I knew I wouldn't be any good at work. I asked to be excused.I was. The waitress asked me what I wanted &watched my eyes fill up and start spilling while I struggled to say "tea." She put a hand on my shoulder & said "I don't know what it is, Sisi, but you will be ok. You will figure it out." She was kind. I would.

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