I may not be meeting up with Erin until Tuesday afternoon, so the actual list of resolutions is still on hold. I’ve got one cemented in my mind already, that being “wear more skirts.” And I’m doing well so far: I wore a skirt today, in the 52-degree weather (that’s, like, Arctic temperatures for us here in San Diego). Then I came up with a second good resolution: “buy more tights.”
But I’ve been thinking a lot about The Resolution from three years ago, the one that Doug and I made together after we’d only been dating for a few weeks, the one that would go down in our personal history as The Best New Year’s Resolution Ever.
We resolved to have sex every day, for the entirety of 2008. Sure, we gave ourselves the option of making exceptions in extreme circumstances, but I don’t know that we ever skipped a day. What I remember is that we kept that resolution, regardless of how busy we were, regardless of how early we had to get up the next morning, regardless of whether we’d been arguing, regardless of whether one of us was sick or I was on my period.
We had sex, every single day, for more than eight months.
And that’s how I got pregnant in the first place.
And then the whole thing went to shit.
Looking back, though, it was a really good resolution. It was, at its outset, an attainable goal, something we both enjoyed, something with concrete health and relationship benefits.
There are actually a few books out there, memoirs by couples who undertook similar bedroom-renovation projects. I remember hearing about them at the time and thinking, They make it sound like it’s such a big deal – like sex is such an inconvenience. Too bad no one asked me to write a book, because we could totally beat those authors at their own game.
Our friends marveled at our commitment, too, some even admitting to being jealous because they weren’t having nearly as much sex as we were. But we were in a new relationship, and in a new city. We didn’t have any money, or any friends, or anything else to do with our time. And it wasn’t something we had to work at, or schedule. It just happened, because we couldn’t keep our hands off each other, and we patted ourselves on the back for being such good New-Year’s-Resolution-keepers.
(And then the miscarriage, and then the whole thing went to shit.)
So I’ve been thinking: What about a do-over?
Now, three years later, I feel like the same project would take much more work. We’re no longer in a new relationship, so although we love each other, there’s less of a sense of urgency when it comes to the physical stuff. We’re back in a familiar city, have more friends, and more commitments, and, therefore, less time. We’re thinking about switching to condoms for our birth control, and that would mean a lot of trips to Planned Parenthood.
But I have not felt like a very good sexual partner these past few years, and I can’t ignore the fact that changing that feeling is very much within my power.
I mean, it’s just sex. It’s easy. It’s free. It takes as much or as little time as we need it to – certainly less time than blogging every day, which I’ve been managing to do for the past five months. And there are concrete health and relationship benefits. And I can’t deny that the Great Sex Marathon of 2011 would be good practice for the Great Attempted Baby-Making of 2012.
For some reason, though, I’m still on the fence. Maybe we’ll just see how tonight goes (and yes, we both have to wake up at 4 a.m. tomorrow), then play it by ear for a few days, at least until I can get together with Erin and get a second opinion on a prospect that was once so exciting and now feels so daunting.