The mere phrase makes me squirm a little.
Don’t get me wrong. I fucking love sex. Sex is basically excellent. It is super fun. I feel womanly and warm and delicious and… I mean, you know, right. It’s like the fuzzy haze you get when you have just one more glass of red wine than you really ought to, but without the nasty headache the next morning. (Sex during that fuzzy haze… don’t get me started. Is this too much information? Sorry.)
Sex while I was up the duff though? Not so excellent.
1. What the hell position do you go for?
I have some sympathy for the octopus having had pregnant sex. Limbs everywhere. Trying to work out which leg goes where while also making a vagina available for penetration is like taking a master class in human origami.
2. The second trimester sex fest urban legend?
Not so much. More like, I only just stopped vomiting on the hour. Get your hands off me.
3. You actually have to be in the mood.
There’s no wine to help you get there. No fancy cheese. No oysters. The only aphrodisiac available to you is chocolate. And you already scoffed the family block at lunch time. That means, you have find the mood unassisted. This is the unicorn zone. Good luck to you.
Have you heard MWN’s Editor-in-Chief confess that she hated her pregnant body. You should. Right now.
4. So many questions.
Is it safe? What should you put where? What should you NOT put where? Asking these questions is a minefield of dodgy google results. (Do not click on the image tab. Do not, do not, do not.) Frankly, the answers raise more questions than you started with. For example, when engaging in oral sex your partner should not blow into your vagina. Er, is that even a thing anyway? Have I been having oral sex incorrectly my entire life?