I'd returned from running errands one afternoon when I walked into the house and saw my husband give me "The Look." The screen door banged behind me as my twin preschoolers ran over to me and wrapped themselves around each leg, squealing with delight. As I reached down to hug them, my husband gave me his signature shake of the head and said, "Hey, honey … " And I, as usual, rolled my eyes as I peeled the girls off my legs.
If your husband's anything like mine, you know what the "dot, dot, dot" means. Those little punctuation marks come at the most inconvenient times! I mean, come on, I'd just picked up the dry cleaning, bought his cousin a wedding gift, found new shoes for our twins, shopped for his favorite food for dinner that night. And now this—another chore. I was cranky and still had laundry to do. Not to mention I could hear my pillow calling in the distance.
But God had some lessons for me that night, and many more nights to follow. As I continued to shrug off my husband's sexual advances, tension continued to build. I grew colder, and he continually felt rejected. It was time to face the facts: I didn't want to have sex. I was too busy, too tired, and flat out didn't have the desire. I had two little people calling my name all day, wiping their noses on my pants, and vying for their turn on my lap. When the twins' bedtime arrived, I wanted personal space. Sex wasn't something I needed or wanted, so it wasn't high on my list of priorities. I was annoyed that sex always seemed to be something my husband wanted.1