"Let’s Talk About Sex Ba-by."

Or rather, "Let’s talk about how hard it is to have a sex life once you have babies."

Hmm ok, slightly less catchy...

Still, I’m talking about it. 

I know. Ugh. Parents having the S.E.X. Gross. We all like to pretend it doesn’t happen. 

Watch: Things parents never say. Post continues below. 

Remember that time when you walked into your parents' room and heard a ruffle of sheets moving frantically and saw a slightly sweaty, red-aced Mum emerge from under the doona?

That’s the shit you place in the "DO NOT OPEN" file, deep in the back of your brain. Now you’re probably opening that file. I apologise. Shake it off. Stay with me. 

Ironic, isn’t it? You do the deed. You produce the beautiful babies. Then, unbeknownst to them, those babies make it their mission to ensure you never climax again.

Congratulations on the arrival of your brand new c*ckblocker. 

In our house, my husband and I have a bedroom next to our children. It’s close. Like sharing a wall kind of close. So yeah, it forces some creative thinking. 

You need to be strategic. To be down with some S.S.S. (Super Silent Sex). I mean nothing is hotter than the sweet whisperings of: "Stop. Did you hear something?"

You could be tempted to mask the noise with music or loud TV. Rookie mistake. All that’s going to do is prevent you from hearing the pitter patter of tiny feet approaching. Seriously. You may as well just pack your bags now and head to the land of lost orgasms.

Let’s say you want to do the morning mambo. A likely scenario, if you have young children like I do.

"Why mornings?" you ask.

If you are asking, I can only assume you are someone who's not sharing your home with small, human sized contraceptives.

I see you people. We have all been you at one time. You in your sexy lingerie, with your sexy scented candles. Having all the time in the world for foreplay! 

"Hey, maybe let’s wake each other in the middle of the night to do it again" you whisper with a naughty giggle. Why not, you crazy minx! You can sleep in! Why would you need to wait till morning?

I'LL TELL YOU WHY! BECAUSE BEDTIME ROUTINES ARE EXHAUSTING!

Take last night, for example. I convinced my seven-year-old to bathe with my one-year-old to save time and water. She argued she was too mature to share a bath but still I managed to convince her. So then, of course, my one year old POOS in the bath. My seven year old starts to scream hysterically and flail around which just makes the nuggets move even faster towards her. I was screaming at my husband to grab the strainer while I frantically grabbed towels. My one year old started screaming... because of all the screaming. 

Poo-gate was followed by three bedtime stories and a lullaby. My four-year-old son, convinced that he would have a nightmare, asked me if I could hold his eyelids open to prevent him from ever falling asleep. I'd finally reassured him nothing scary would happen, when my eldest daughter entered the room covered in blood from a massive nosebleed. 

Talk about Killing. The. Mood. The last thing I want after caring for kids all day and having bodily fluids thrown at me, is to be touched in any way. There is not enough lubrication in the world.

My vagina is in lockdown, there is a strict curfew. 

But. If the stars align and my children sleep through the night. The sun rises and I’m a completely different person. I turn to my partner and in my sexist voice say, "You wanna?"

We check the time. 5.45am. Ok, no kissing. 

We need to be gettin’ down to business. Not totally naked business. No, that's too high risk, reserved for the cover of nighttime only. This was a morning job. We had to 'Humphrey B. Bare'* this thing.

*For an entire generation that just missed that reference, Humphrey was a children’s entertainer: a man in a bear suit who wore a waistcoat and tie, without pants. You get the idea. 

Anyway, things are happening, but tops stay on. So far, SO good. We have ensured we are positioned in the least squeaky part of the bed, legs covered by doona. I’m on top, getting close. The kids are far from my mind. I’m not even too distracted by my stretch marks or the hypnotic sway of my post-breastfeeding boobs, swinging like old socks in the wind. I’m so freakin' close...

Suddenly the door opens. I freeze. It was a stealth attack. Completely without warning.

There was no time so I just laid my tummy down flat, as my husband gathered the doona over me. 

This all happens within seconds. 

My husband whispers frantically in my ear, "Don’t move." 

I mean, the doona wasn’t a cloak of invisibility. They knew we were there. But his "wand" was still inside me, so I could understand the panic. 

"We heard weird noises," my eldest daughter said. 

Now in hindsight here are some better answers I could have gone with:

Complete ignorance:

"Hmm really? That's strange? Maybe go check in the lounge room."

A more authoritative approach perhaps:

"Daddy and I are trying to sleep in, go away."

Or just gaslight them completely:

"There were no noises. You were dreaming."

No. Instead I make the mistake of saying, "Daddy was tickling mummy. Sorry if we woke you. Silly Daddy."

"TICKLE FIGHT!" they roar and jump on the bed. Jesus Christ. My husband exits me as fast as humanly possible. During the tickle rampage I manage to scramble into my mum knickers under the doona. Goodbye orgasm. 

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We decided to reschedule to an evening attempt. I even shaved my legs and showered... it was a relief to not have the sound of the Wiggles' 'Hot potato' playing in the background. 

Instead WE were the two hot potatoes and things were roasting. 

Clothes were peeled off completely.. Finally... getting close...

"Mummy!"

Oh god why? How did he just appear? And why are children so creepy at night? They just emerge from nowhere. Next to you. Little eyes staring at you in the darkness.

"I had a bad dream," my four-year-old son said.

"Was it the one where you were finally having some adult time with your partner and then a small voice calls out for you in the darkness… then his little face just materialises inches from your own?" I thought. 

"Oh, it’s ok buddy, come on I'll walk you back to bed," my husband said, taking his hand.

"What was that squeaking noise?" I heard my son ask as they left the room. 

"Sorry, buddy. Mummy was jumping on the bed."

My four-year-old's eyes lit up like it was Christmas. 

"What? But we aren’t allowed to jump on the bed?" he exclaimed, in awe. 

"Yeah, that’s why she does it in secret," my husband replied. "Anyway, I’ll tell her to stop. Go to sleep."

The next day at Kinder, his teacher innocently asks him, “How are you today?”

My son loudly replies, "My mum was jumping on the bed last night! I heard her!"

Teacher smiles, her eyes widening. "That sounds like fun!"

 Kill. Me. Now.

"Oh, yes," I stammered. "I was... changing a lightbulb."

His teacher smiled and nodded politely.

I departed, vowing to smash an actual lightbulb over my husband's penis. 

This is why you have to be extremely careful how a horny mind operates. The things my husband will offer our kids in the heat of the moment just to get them to give us some alone time. 

"Just give us a minute. Why don’t you go and pop a movie on in the loungeroom?"  (Ok. Reasonable.) 

"Why don’t you go and watch YouTube?" (Despite banning YouTube the night before and probably again in 15 minutes...)

I will give you $10 dollars to leave and go into the lounge room right now."  (Slightly insulting that’s the rate I’m apparently worth.)

I honestly wonder what rewards kids have managed to gain in exchange for orgasms over the years. 

Makes you wonder... the next time you see a photo of a family smiling with Mickey Mouse outside a magical castle, was it all because a pair of blue balls desperately yelled out in the heat of the moment...

"IF YOU JUST GIVE ME FIVE MORE MINUTES IN BED I WILL TAKE YOU TO DISNEYLAND!”"

Feature Image: Getty.