‘Mommy Mojo Makeover’ Classes are the New Thing for Moms? Nope, Not for THIS Mom.Meredith Carroll
You can read all the books in the world, take back-to-back-to-back classes like you’re back in college, talk to every friend and mom who came before you, but until you have a child of you own, you have no idea. Let me repeat: You. Have No. Idea.
Then let’s say it happens for you and you are the luckiest! You have the best baby in the world: Easy pregnancy. Birth was a breeze. Junior latches like a champ. Starts sleeping like Rip Van Winkle from night No. 1.
OK, well then, first of all, you’re lying. But second of all, even if some of it is true and you have a great, easy baby, the first year of parenting is tough, man. It just beats you up 12 ways ’til Sunday. You’re tired. Messy. Smelly. Disorganized. And sex? Ew and ugh. Who has the time or inclination?
Yes, Dr. Laura Schlessinger, I listen to you often on Sirius radio in my car and know that we should all be treating our husbands as if we are their girlfriends, which means sex — and a lot of it.
But let’s all remember what happened to dear Tori Spelling, who got pregnant with her fourth child, like, minutes after birthing her third one. Last I read in the tabloids, her now-sexless marriage is on the rocks because her husband can’t keep it in his pants when he leaves the house because she ceased giving it up.
But now there’s a class for this apparently. No, not a class for scumbag husbands (or “rehab” for a “sex addiction”). But a class for moms to get back their “mojo.” According to the New York Post, Mommy Mojo Makeovers are really and truly a thing. It’s intended for moms to “reclaim bedroom groove.”
You know what groove I want back in my bedroom in the two-and-a-half years since the birth of my second and final child? More sleep, thank you very much. I haven’t forgotten how to have sex with my husband, or how to be or feel sexy. There’s not a whole lot of time for it, but we love each other deeply, are committed to a real marriage and we do what we have to do to keep our marriage alive and well. Maybe not as often as two full time jobs, young children and real life allows, but a class to help me relearn bedroom mojo? Who has the time, and who isn’t just icked out by this? Or is it just me?
Mojo students pay $150 for the 3-week workshop in Brooklyn that includes burlesque dancing, erotic readings and something called “naughty mama homework” (ick, again — why include the word “mama” in something that’s intended to be sexual? Ick!). The class leaders promises the workshop will aide moms in reigniting “their romance, reconnect with their body and get their sexy self-confidence back.”
You know what else will do that for $150? A babysitter, dinner out and a bottle of wine.
I know plenty of moms (me included) who’ve let it go after childbirth. I’m totally guilty. I could care less about makeup, dressing up, etc. for months and months after giving birth. But I’m also thrilled that I married a man who didn’t expect that at one of the most trying and tiring times in my life, physically and emotionally, that I would put on a feather boa and do the equivalent of a lap dance for him in our bedroom. Sex is definitely important on many levels in a marriage. But to try and pretend it’s critical after a baby comes? Even if an obstetrician gives the green-light for sex six weeks postpartum, very few women are ready for it — emotionally or physically — at that point. (Except Tori, and how’s that working out for you now, Tori?).
There are ways to keep romance alive that don’t require classes. Even just reading 50 Shades of Grey did it for more women (and men) who I know who I can count. And where’s the mojo class for men? What’s their homework to entice their wives to want to do any of this? What’s their contribution?
The mojo workshop leader “firmly subscribes to the concept of ‘fake it till you make it'” theory, which just makes me want to cry. It’s like new moms aren’t overwhelmed enough. Now we have to fake being turned on, feeling sensual, being aroused by sites and smells in the supermarket (ugh, read the whole Post article). It’s so ass-backwards. It’s so fake. It’s so awful.
Until you have a baby, you just don’t know. But when you do, what you do know is that there’s enough pressure coming from every which direction, including new ones and others you weren’t even aware existed. You are in charge of keeping a brand-new human being alive. Now to have to feel like “exploring fantasies” and arming yourself with an “X-rated goody bag includes a tube of Booty Parlor thigh-toning cellulite cream, a fancy bottle of lubricant and the Champ, Myers’ favorite ‘Feel the Hum’ vibrator” is part of the necessary experience? Oh, the (in)humanity.
To paraphrase the Velveteen Rabbit, love is what’s there when the pretty layers are stripped away. Love, to me anyway, is not feeling like I have to act like a stripper to keep my marriage healthy and exciting.
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