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1. You’re telling all the lies. Coming up with fresh, creative, and somewhat believable ways to answer the question, “WHAT ARE YOU GUYS DOING UP THERE?” is a constant challenge. “Folding socks!” only buys you so much time.
2. There’s just too much touching. Your child has managed to grope, tug, and slobber on every inch of your body today, and now someone else wants to put their paws on you? Ugh, pass.
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3. You’re faced with ethical dilemmas. You’ve been told your infant will never remember chilling in a crib five feet away from your orgasm, but something in those curious, blinking eyes has you freaked out about long-term emotional damage.
4. There are a serious lack of F’s given. The kids are entertained, you’ve secluded yourselves in the laundry room, and then your husband discovers a Cheerio cemented to your right boob. You wonder if he realizes nobody ate Cheerios today.
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5. Getting hot and bothered doesn’t happen. Telling your vagina to be aroused at 8:32 p.m. (quick, there’s five minutes before someone comes knocking about a monster under the bed) is like willing a rainbow to appear in the sky.
6. You’re in parenting mode 24/7. When you’re finally ready to get some, you text your hubs that everyone’s watching a movie. “You go into the bathroom, I’ll follow in two minutes.” And then your plan is foiled by a cruelly-timed sibling battle with screams.
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7. You bribe your kids to sit down and shut it. Certain diversions (like another bowl of ice cream or episode of SpongeBob) will feel you leaving guilty—but not that guilty. Which makes you feel even guiltier.
8. That sex toy stash is not safe. Your daughter’s crying because she wants to play with the secret vibrating back massager she discovered while rifling through your drawer. She likes that it’s hot pink. (P.S. Check out these sex products from the Women’s Health Boutique.)
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9. Date night details become super important. You and the hubs inhale dinner to make time for sex before picking up the kids from grandma’s house. Cue the humping indigestion (worth it).
10. You’re surrounded by the wrong kinds of toys. There’s nothing that quite kills the mood mid-thrust like a chirping Fisher-Price truck.