"We'll Have More Sex When Things Calm Down."

You haven’t fully lived until you’re pooping and breastfeeding at the same time.

You’ve finally got that parasite, I mean, beautiful baby, properly latched. You’ve successfully twisted your nipple into the perfect pointy position, and relaxed enough for the milk to let down when you realize you have to go to the bathroom. Not just to pee, to poop.

Shit. Exactly. Shit.

You waddle over to the bathroom and, with a single hand, pull your pants down slowly enough to not disrupt the baby, but fast enough so you don’t poop in your underwear. You do that one-handed shimmy to get your pants down, cradling your baby with your other hand. You don’t even think about closing the bathroom door – that’s far too advanced.

If you’ve made it this far successfully without getting crap all over your underwear, you’re a rockstar. You poop in the potty! Hooray—you deserve a treat! Then there’s the wiping. You’ve got to fully wipe, front to back (always), and pull up your underwear and stretchy pants. Obviously stretchy pants. Not even worth the fingerstrokes it took to type “stretchy.” We all know if you’ve just given birth and are breastfeeding, you’re wearing stretchy pants. Do any women wear real pants anymore, irrespective of birthing status?

The next step is to wash your hands, or rather, hand. You made it. The baby is still nursing happily, about to drift off to slumber. You’ve pooped while simultaneously breastfeeding, accomplishing a feat that very few others can even come close to. Gold-star mother.

And honestly, even if you did get a little poop on your hospital undies—or maybe even on your kid’s head—you still deserve a fucking medal. Just don’t forget to wash your child’s head before you lean down to kiss it, taking a whiff of that tasty baby scent, soaking in that sweet, sweet hit of oxytocin.

Two Things at Once…

This might be one of the most primal examples of doing two things at once. Sure, we can rub our bellies and pat our heads or think about our to-do list while doing the dishes, amending said list in real time. But pooping while breastfeeding? That’s very human, very mammalian. We do multiple things at once because that is how humans survive, that is how humans thrive.

Yet, when it comes to our sex lives in a long-term relationship, many people believe life must be calm, traumas healed, circumstances perfected prior to playful, pleasurable sex. Why do we believe all tasks must be complete, all children asleep, bills paid, laundry folded, meals prepped, and that extra belly fat: vanished?

This is a magical wonderland of “nothing else to do,” a sexual doppelganger of the elusive “Inbox-Zero.” You spend so much time trying to get your inbox to zero, that your work is no longer about your work, it’s about the process of optimising. It’s a futile goal; Sysiphean, and ultimately a set-up for an unfulfilling, infrequent sex life.

Sorry to break it to you, but there will never be a time when things are calm. There will never be a time when all tasks are done. There is always something else on the horizon. These sentiments should give you relief, not stress. What is life with the absence of a next thing? Oblivion, death, depression? Certainly anhedonia. Whatever it is, it’s not an adaptive goal. Instead of throwing our hands up in surrender, channel Dido, and embrace it.

Our to-do lists should continue to generate new tasks. There will never be a time when we can say, “Ah, now that everything is finished, now we can have sex.” We shouldn’t wait for done to have joy. Undone-ness is a fundamental architecture of being human.

We exist because we progress. There is no progress if there is no next step, no next task, no next thing. To be human is to do, to strive, do more, and then more, and then more, in perpetuity.

Delaying sex and pleasure because of the mere presence of our to-do lists will make sex nonexistent. And, perhaps controversially, having sex will allow those annoying to-do list items to be ever-so-slightly less annoying. Sex regulates, destresses, and helps bring us back to center. It can be the WD-40 on that to-do list, making everything run a little more smoothly. A lubricant, some might say. Though that feels like a double entendre a little too easy, even for a sex writer.

Here’s another example, far less sexy – although, pooping and breastfeeding is not sexy at all. So I retract my statement. This next story is about cancer. Sexy, right?

I had cancer during college, when I was nineteen and twenty, diagnosed young, caught early, and treated relatively quickly. But for that year-ish, far from home, with a prefrontal cortex still forming, I was a mess. I was a swimmer in college and had to take time away while I was getting treatment and surgery. I had constructed my entire identity around swimming. It was the only thing I did outside of going to class and studying, and it’s where all of my friendships were housed. So even on days when I felt sick or couldn’t compete, I would go to practice and spend time with the team and my coaches. Still just a kid, my coaches were more than just coaches, they were pseudo-caretakers.

One afternoon, talking to the assistant coach of the men’s team, I was bemoaning how bad I felt and how much I wanted to have the surgery, get my treatment, and move on with my life. Only then would I feel better. He looked at me, with a sort of “oh poor, silly girl,” face and said, “there will always be a next thing.”

At the time I was pissed. I did not like that advice. I felt he owed me a rah-rah, rousing, pump up speech, calling me brave for managing cancer all on my own at such a young age. Instead, he stood there and told me there was always a next stressor right around the corner. I was not thrilled to hear this. In hindsight, this was some of the best advice I have ever received. I still return to this conversation in moments of stress and overwhelm and heed his advice. It allows me to keep going, no matter what, and to not wait to get over whatever the current hurdle is in order to live my life. I live my life regardless, knowing there’s always a next thing. A delay based on a notion of getting over the current barrier is an infinite delay, and I refuse to do that.

So, don’t delay. Don’t delay your pleasure and desire and joy and freedom. Give yourself permission to enjoy today. Leave the dishes in the sink, let the kids play independently for twenty more minutes, and get the gift for the birthday party online. Live your life now, to-do lists be damned.