I would like to take a moment to formally apologize to every woman who came before me and birthed a human being from their loins.

I was wrong.

And I’m sorry for judging you. So very, very sorry.

Truly, I am.

For the better part of my younger years I could never understand why you left the house in such a disarray. Your hair would be a bird’s nest on top of your head, your clothes covered in questionable sticky substances, and honestly, did you go out in public wearing anything other than leggings and casual sportswear? Because to look like you’re going to the gym when, in fact, the only workout you had was chasing your toddler up and down the aisles of Target seems a little dramatic. All I’m saying is a little effort never hurt anybody.

But you were a mom now. You had a kid. But, it’s just that … a kid. How hard could it really be? You give birth. You integrate the child into your everyday lives, and eighteen years later you send them on their merry way in hopes you’ve laid the foundation for them to not be a dick and turn into a productive member of society.

Seemed easy enough.

Well, it begs repeating … I was wrong.

And I’m sorry.

Children, while absolutely adorable and lovable and funny, are really little assholes underneath it all. And frankly, I’m kind of pissed that nobody warned me about this. Though had I been warned, I either would have called you a lazy liar or I would have had these tubes tied long ago.

I’m just kidding.

(Sorta.)

At any rate, I always swore I’d have my shit together when I finally had kids. That I’d be the perfect mom and the perfect wife, while maintaining a perfectly immaculate house and having the perfect career.

I mean how hard could it be?

Here’s the shortlist of things nobody warned me about before having kids …

• I will always be wrong.
• Nothing will ever be clean again.
• There is no such thing as “me time.”
• I will covet thy neighbor’s minivan.
• I will be expected to accomplish Herculean feats like finishing science projects the night before they’re due or carting three different kids to three different activities at three locations on opposite sides of town all at the same time.

I honestly have no idea how any of you successfully do this without black magic or the assistance of a secret nanny/chef/maid/taxi service. So, hats off to all you superhuman moms out there.

But superhuman I am not.

I am messy.

And rushed.

And sleep deprived.

And—more importantly—sex deprived.

God, I miss regularly having sex, especially in the comfort of my own bed. But since that sacred space has been commandeered by my children practically every night for the past three years, it’s a luxury I have since forgotten.

Let us pause for a moment of silence as we mourn the loss of my aforementioned sex life. It was glorious and adventurous while it lasted. And now it is in heaven, right along side all my single woman hopes and dreams.

And let’s not forget the fact I’m constantly comparing myself to other moms, and I have simply come to the conclusion that more often than not, I am failing at life. I have, no doubt, in some capacity screwed up this thing called motherhood. Though, in fairness, you probably have, too. You’re just significantly better at denying it as you post perfect photos of your seemingly well-mannered family on Facebook. Emphasis on the word “seemingly,” because you aren’t fooling me. I know that for every perfect photo you publish, there are at least fifty depicting the shit show that is your real life.

It wasn’t always like this, though. I was damn near unflappable up until the moment that Jack, Wes, and Miles came barreling into our lives. No, they didn’t take turns like good little boys do. Those hellions clawed their way out of my womb in unison.

One baby changes everything. But triplets? Triplets catapult you into three-ring-circus status in which the monkeys are the ringmasters, and you’re merely pulling custodial duty, cleaning up the mess they leave in their wake.

God, I miss having my shit together. The days where I could pee in the company of my iPhone and didn’t eat a lunch of leftover mac and cheese and hot dogs from my kids’ plates. The time when my husband, Cameron, and I could have a little unplanned afternoon delight and take our time with each other, not fearing interruption. But dammit, at the very least, I will always try. Which leads us to this precise moment in time…

Me, my husband, and our postage stamp-sized laundry room.

“How many did you give them, Tara?” Cam asks, breaking the kiss to unbuckle his pants.

I whip off my shirt in one swift motion and recklessly cast it to the floor.

“About fifty Goldfish each, give or take.”

“And how much time does that buy us?”

He kicks his pants off his ankles and drops my panties before I hoist my ass up on top of the dryer. Before I snuck into the laundry room, Cam turned both the washer and dryer on in a weak effort to drown out our sound. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like the added vibrations it provides, just a little bit.

“About eight minutes if we’re lucky.”

We’ve always measured time in how long it takes our triplet boys to eat. A banana? You’ve only got about two minutes. Goldfish crackers? Anywhere from five to ten minutes.

“What happened to the M&M’s?”

Dammit! I was banking on him not remembering the M&M’s time warp. Those little squids savor those chocolate suckers and eat them one color at a time, usually starting with whichever color has the most candies and working their way down through the lineup. It easily buys us fifteen minutes, at the very least.

“I forgot. And if either of us wants to get off right now, we don’t have time to argue.”

And Lord knows I want to get off right now. Actually, it’s less of a want and more of a carnal need. It’s been far too long.

I frantically shove one hand down his boxer briefs and find him hard and ready for a little mid-afternoon delight. Not that there’s much delightfulness in having a quickie in the laundry room, but these days you have to get creative and take what you can get.

“Good God, woman,” he groans as I palm his balls, giving a gentle, but firm squeeze. He reaches around my back, unhooking my bra and takes my nipple into his mouth, grazing his teeth across it.

I moan.

He groans.

And I grab onto his cock, positioning him at the ready. “Enough with the foreplay. Come on … give it to me.”

As much as I’d love to hang around here all day, we simply don’t have time. And yes, I know skipping foreplay is about as pleasant as going down a waterslide that isn’t wet on a steamy summer’s day, but I’m so desperate to jump into the pool that I frankly don’t give a shit.

Cam snaps his head up and raises his eyebrows, trying not to laugh. There’s a mischievous twinkle in his eye that’s matched only by his cockamamie smile. “Dirty talking, eh?”

“No. Dirty talk would be me reminding you that the pile over there has the stained clothes of three little boys who are easily close to being done with one-third of their Goldfish. So if you know what’s good for you, you’ll just shut up and kiss me.”

I am nothing if not romantic.

He obeys, and his lips collide with mine. I wrap my legs around his waist and draw his body closer, sinking my fingernails into his back as he enters me. He pauses for just a moment, allowing my body to adjust to his length, and God, does this feel way too good. Euphoric, even.

Cam’s lips move down my neck to my shoulders then down to my breasts. It’s the feeling of ecstasy on speed. So rushed, but every movement made with distinct intention. I can’t help but wonder why the hell we let ourselves get into another sexless rut.

And then it happens, not even two minutes into our secret tryst …

The answer to my sexless rut question.

The sound of a little body comes crashing against the other side of the laundry room door.

“Moooom! Are you in there?” Wes’ tiny little voice sing-songs from the hallway as he beats down the damn door.

Cam looks at me wide-eyed and shakes his head imperceptibly. He mouths the word “Shhhh…” as he slows his rhythm to stay quiet.

“Mom! What are you doing? Where’s Dad?” he asks.

Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock.

“I told you Dad was in there with her,” Miles informs him. Our middle son never misses a beat. I swear that three-year-old has a sixth sense that can hone in on the exact geographic position of anyone he’s ever met. Too bad he can’t do the same with the security blanket he loses on a daily basis.

While two pairs of fists beat against the door, Cam continues to thrust in and out of me, as quietly and controlled as possible. The juxtaposition of sheer pleasure and utter horror is both frustrating and hilarious.

“Mooom?”

My eyes dart from my husband to the door, and he knows I’m about to break. What if they’re coming to tell me Jack ran away? What if the kitchen is on fire? What if someone left a carton of ice cream out and our home has been invaded by hungry rats with a sweet tooth?

“Shhhh…” Cam says, milliseconds before his lips crash onto mine again. His touch soothes all of my irrational fears and when we finally break the kiss moments later, I realize just how much I’ve missed him.

Cam’s hand reaches between my thighs, and he caresses my clit, a delicate purr in the back of my throat as he plunges deep inside me. I close my eyes and throw my head back, wanting nothing more than to escape this reality and be lost in the moment, but the doorknob jiggles so hard I swear those little monsters are going to rip it off.

Fuck.

It’s impossible to focus, and I know if I can’t focus on being present inside the walls of the laundry room, I’m never going to climax.

They’ve gotta go.

I clear my throat. “Hey guys,” I try to say in my steadiest voice. “Dad is helping me move the dryer. We’ll be out in a few. Why don’t you go and play?”

With those final words, Cam takes it upon himself to play with my breasts with his other hand, teasingly rolling my nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

“But we’re still hungry!” Wes whines.

Of course they are. They could clear out an all-you-can-eat buffet and still have room for more.

“There’s candy in my purse. Next to the bed. Help yourself!” I pant as Cam moves in and out of my body.

“Take whatever you want!” Cam chimes in, trying to focus on doing the task at hand … me.

We hear the thunder of footsteps racing down the hall toward our bedroom, and I nail Cam with that silent look that speaks volumes. That look that says, “It’s now or never, so let’s make this happen.”

Cam pulls my ass closer to him, nearly yanking me off the dryer as he kisses me hard and fast. His frantic pace matched with the vibrations from the machine is almost too much to handle.

“Fuck, yes!” I hiss when he pries his lips off mine. It’s not quite a whisper, but not so loud the kids will hear it.

He’s dedicated to the cause, but given the interruption, I’m not convinced he’s really into the moment if you know what I’m saying.

Without question, we have far exceeded our fifty Goldfish time limit. And judging from the fact that Cam isn’t even making his “I’m getting close” face yet, which is scarily close to his “I’m trying to stealthily squeak out a fart” face, I’m definitely worried that this isn’t going to end well for either of us.

This laundry room rendezvous has been planned for two days! Even the best-laid plans don’t guarantee you to get laid, I suppose. But it’s clear that we’re not ready to resign. I grab onto Cam’s ass, pulling him closer to me and willing him to work faster, harder. I watch as he bites his bottom lip and a thin sheen of sweat covers his forehead.

Just as we’re both back in the moment, there’s a soft rasp at the door. “Dad? I think Mr. Freckles isn’t feeling well,” Jack whines from the other side of the door.

Cam balls his hands into two tight fists and scowls in frustration. Apparently, he can’t keep focus either.

“Maybe we should try again later?” I suggest delicately in a whisper.

Cam bites his lip and continues to thrust into me in rapid succession. “Oh, no we don’t. We’re finishing this now,” he grits through his teeth. “Those kids can take a number. It’s been too long since we’ve been together. I. Need. You.” He emphasizes each word with a thrust.

I stifle a giggle, loving his urgency, and weave my fingers through his hair.

“Dad?”

Shit.

“Yeah, buddy?” Cam responds, eyes never leaving mine.

“Mr. Freckles?” Jack says expectantly.

Cam sighs. “Leave him in the tank. As soon as your mom and I are done moving the washer, I’ll take a look at him.”

“Miles said you were moving the dryer,” he says matter-of-factly. He may only be three, but the accusation and doubt of our activities are as clear as day.

“Whatever!” Cam and I both shout in unison.

It gets strangely quiet, save for the humming swoosh of the dryer and the push and pull of our bodies in motion. I think Jack is still standing outside of the door, but it’s hard to tell. After a few moments, I can only assume he’s traipsed away, left to lament his ailing pet.

Cam leans in and kisses me deeply and full of passion. Everything these days feels quick. But we both work hard to keep the passion in there.

“Uh-oh!” Jack’s voice is soft and alarming.

Apparently, I was wrong. The kid never even left.

“Oh God, what now?” I say to no one in particular, looking up at the ceiling. I don’t even bother trying to hide my annoyance.

Cam sighs in defeat. The mood is ruined. Not that there was ever a mood established. But more of a firm will to orgasm.

“Daaaad? I think Mr. Freckles got out of the pillowcase.”

There’s a fear in his voice that makes me uneasy. We gave the kids a terrarium for Christmas, complete with their own trio of reptiles and amphibians.

“You think? I told you to leave him in the tank!” Cam bellows, trying to contain his anger.

I grab Cam on either side of the face, and my eyes go wide in panic. “Please tell me Mr. Freckles is the frog.”

Cam stills inside me and slowly turns his head toward the door before looking back at me. “Do you want me to tell you that Mr. Freckles is the frog, or do you want me to tell you the truth?”

I’d like for it to go on record that I was an active and willing participant in this little sexcapade. My husband has been blue balled by our children, not me.

“Mr. Freckles is the snake?” I hitch my legs up on top of the dryer protectively, and Cam winces at the movement as he’s withdrawn from my body.

“Ow, fuck!” he hisses instinctively.

“Oh my God! Babe? I’m so sorry!”

Cam’s expression changes from pain to a mix of disgust and panic, and I see his Adam’s apple bob dramatically in his throat.

“What’s the matter?” I ask, and he slowly closes his eyes, taking a controlled breath before opening them to look at me.

“I think we found Mr. Freckles,” he whispers.

Then, I follow his gaze as he slowly looks to the ground.

And sure enough, Mr. Freckles is loosely coiling himself around Cam’s ankle, and I do the only thing I know how to do when I see a snake within striking distance …

I scream like a little girl.

Cam is my hero and manages to apprehend the snake, returning it to the terrarium unharmed. If left to me, I would have killed it on the spot. I was against the damn thing in the first place and keep my distance from it at all costs.

I, on the other hand, begrudgingly pull my clothes back on and venture my orgasm-less ass out of the laundry room to make sure the kids didn’t eat their body weight in sugar. When I find them using our king bed as a trampoline, I know they’re mid-sugar rush. And as much as I detest the rush, I at least know there’s a glorious crash not far behind.

I fold my arms and lean against the door frame, smiling at their sweet innocence. Cam squeezes my shoulders as he comes up and stands behind me. The pair of them are jousting in the air when they catch sight of us.

“Hey, Mom! We found the candy, but then we found these cool lightsabers in your drawer, so we’re playing Star Wars,” Wes cheers valiantly as he slaps one of the dildos from my secret stash against the bright pink rabbit vibrator his brother is holding. “I’m Darth Vader because my saber is black!”

What the … ?

I walk in to make sure my eyes aren’t deceiving me. My eyes go wide, and my mouth agape at the sight of what’s clenched in his tiny hands and everything seems to continue in slow motion. They didn’t just find the candy.

They found my sex toy stash.

“I wanted to be Luke Skywalker, but Wes told me I couldn’t be Luke and that I had to be Rey because my lightsaber is pink. But Mace Wandu had that pinkish purplish lightsaber, and he was a badass. Right, Dad?” Miles asks while jumping on the bed, pretending to attack his brother.

Cam does what any self-respecting Dad would do in this situation. He holds his camera phone up to the scene, no doubt recording the dregs of my dignity going down the toilet. But it’s clear that Cam is fighting the laughter bubbling inside.

“Hey, buddy, watch it. That’s an adult word.”

“Oh, shit. Sorry, Dad!” Miles apologizes.

“It’s okay. But you’re right, Wandu was a bit of a badass.” Cam nods approvingly at his son, equal parts impressed and proud of his Star Wars knowledge at such a young age. “All right, all right, I think that’s enough defending the galaxy for one day. Give your mom her lightsabers back.”

Wes flings the dildo rapidly in the air, watching it flop around and bend in mid-air in a dark blur. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a little bit mesmerizing.

“NEVER!” Wes shouts, shoving it toward the sky forcefully.

Cam cocks his head to the side, narrows his eyes and fights a playful smirk as he looks from Wes’ “lightsaber” to me and then back to the toy again. He’s putting two and two together. I’m shocked he didn’t notice it sooner, to be honest. Cam is probably more excited about my personal toy collection than I am. Back when we were first married, he would raid my collection on a regular basis to spice things up during foreplay. At first it was embarrassing, but in reality, it was kind of hot.

He clears his throat. “Umm … is that a new … uh, toy?”

I feel the heat rising in my cheeks. I had intended to tell him about the Dark Chocolate Thunder dildo I bought at my sister’s bachelorette party but conveniently forgot about … for roughly four years.

Whoops!

“Umm … yeah?” My voice is void of any certainty and replaced with sheer mortification. He nails me with a pointed look and I fight the urge to tell him once you go black because I’m not sure if he’d appreciate the joke at this precise moment. “Actually, no, I’ve had it for a while,” I finally admit after the awkward silence looms for so long it’s painfully uncomfortable.

“Miles … I am your father!” Wes booms as he impales his brother with the giant, black, plastic dick, all while jumping on our bed.

Reality snaps me back to the moment, and I whip the dildo from his grasp mid-back swing. “Okay, okay, okay. That’s enough, Darth. And give me that one too, Miles.” I extend my hand, palm up, in anticipation.

Miles jumps to his knees, pouty lip protruding out to there, before surrendering my little pink rabbit. Up until this moment, it had been my favorite vibrator.

“That’s no fair! You always keep all the fun toys to yourself.”

Cam reaches out for Wes, and he climbs into his arms. “I know, buddy,” he soothes as he pats Wes’ back. “Girls get all the fun toys to play with. It almost makes playing with us boys obsolete.”

I snort and make a mental note to deep-clean these suckers and hide them under lock and key. Then again, I should probably trash them because the last thing I want to think about when I go reaching into my goody bag is how my boys had their hands all over my toys.

“You two. Get out of our room and go play downstairs. I need five minutes to myself,” I tell them. Without thinking, I playfully swat Wes on the butt with the dildo. Oh my God ... did I really just do that?

Sigh.

Let’s just go ahead and add that to my list of never-ending mothering wins … I shooed my son away with a giant, veiny cock.

With Miles wrapped around him like a monkey, Cam corrals Wes and pushes him out of our bedroom.

Cam places his hand on the doorknob and looks over his shoulder at me. He mouths I love you, Tara, and I blow him a kiss in return.

“Tonight.” His voice holds promise of finishing our unfinished business.

I can’t help but smile. “You bet your ass, as long as the only snake in the room is the one permanently attached to your body.”

He throws a playful wink my way and closes the door behind him.

Some days I can’t believe that this ridiculousness is my life. My sex life is methodically planned into tiny pockets of time throughout the day. Questionably ill reptiles are loose in my home. And lately, my kids are playing with more dick than I am.

I sit down on the corner of my bed and laugh so hard that tears begin to prick the corners of my eyes. In spite of all the absurdity, I don’t think I’d want it any other way.

Okay …

Maybe I’d like a little more uninterrupted one-on-one time with Cam. But beyond that, I wouldn’t change a thing.