Free Open: Love, Sex and Life in an Open Marriage by Jenny Block Page A

rough patch.
    A year later, we decided it was time to have a baby. I got pregnant on my first try that summer. Christopher seemed shocked, maybe even disappointed, that I had gotten pregnant so quickly.
    “You know those tests aren’t always accurate,” he said when I handed him the pink stick with the two blue lines.
    “They’re plenty accurate,” I replied. “This is the same kind they use at my doctor’s office.”
    “Well, this is going to change everything,” he said as he disappeared up the stairs.

    No kidding, I thought.
    I gave him a few minutes alone, and then went upstairs to find him.
    “You okay?” I asked.
    “Yeah. Oh yeah, of course,” he said. I could tell he was reading the look of worry on my face. “I’m just, well, surprised. I thought it would take a few tries.”
    “It can. But it just didn’t with us, I guess.”
    “Must mean it’s meant to be, huh?” He reached out to hug me.
    “I’d like to think so.” He told me he loved me and admitted that he was scared. I told him I was scared, too. We agreed that we’d tackle it together. It was what we wanted. I knew it was what I wanted, and I had no reason to doubt him when he echoed my desire to start a family. I felt good. I felt ready. And, honestly, I felt happy.

    i had a difficult pregnancy. I fluctuated
    between hunger and nausea, without a break from either. Eating became my only pastime. That and watching bad daytime TV. Christopher and I had sex only once during my entire pregnancy. He finally admitted that it freaked him out to do it while I was pregnant.
    “It’s too weird,” he said.
    “You mean I’m too fat,” I responded angrily. At that point, it didn’t matter what the reason was, really. I was pissed, and our sexualities seemed more incompatible than

    ever. I felt hurt and confused. I was doing this wonderful thing that we both wanted so much, and yet it made me unattractive to him. It was hard for me to articulate my feelings, though, because my moods were so dramatic and changing constantly. On good days, I accepted that Christopher just felt weird about it. It felt weird to me, too; It was hard to feel sexy when I was feeling so awkward. On bad days, I wondered what I was thinking by having a baby with someone whom I felt completely sexually incompatible with.
    After our daughter was born, I was uncomfortably heavy, weighing more than I ever had in my life. I couldn’t fit into anything, and often wore the scrubs Christopher had been given at the hospital when I had my emergency C-section.
    I struggled with my weight for the next year, and Christopher and I never had sex. I didn’t feel the least bit desirable, and without my prodding him, what little interest Christopher did have in sex disappeared completely.
    I finally joined Weight Watchers to get back on track, but even after I lost weight, Christopher continued to struggle with the idea of our having sex. It was as if he simply couldn’t look at me the way he had before I had the baby, and he seemed to have no libido at all.
    “You just . . . you still look pregnant to me,” he said one night. His comment sent me into a tailspin. I was angry at him, angry at myself. I was incredibly unhappy with the way I looked, too, and I felt awful, as if I were dragging my

    body along with me wherever I went. I kept hoping it would just pop back into shape, or that I would simply wake up one day and feel perfectly fine with the sagging belly and weighty thighs that no amount of diet and exercise seemed to be able to reduce. But nothing changed.
    Christopher’s comment was horrible and hurtful, but it was also true. Should he have wanted me anyway? Maybe. But he didn’t. And I had trouble blaming him entirely, because my attitude certainly wasn’t helping the matter. Maybe if I had felt and acted desirable, I would have been attractive to him regardless. Through it all, I felt silly and upset with myself. What difference did it make what my body looked