How Noggin saved my sex life

That’s right. I credit Noggin with saving my sex life, and probably my marriage. PBS has done its part, and on the rare occasion, Nick Jr. has pitched in. The only windows of time when David and I can ever get busy anymore with some regularity is while Seconda watches TV. This works particularly well on Fridays, when my hub works from home, and my son is in school. We just scroll through the Tivo, select an enticing Wonder Pets or Backyardigans episode, one we know she just can’t refuse, strap her securely into the highchair and retire to the bedchamber.

Is this the most relaxing circumstances under which to enjoy a carnal embrace? Certainly not. Usually, after about 5 minutes, Seconda finds some problem to complain about and start yelling for us. This happened much more frequently when our show of choice was Sesame Street. Its magazine format, with all those short segments featuring different characters and stories, allowed her to develop some very specific preferences, and we were constantly dashing back to the living room to rewind so she could watch Count Dracula again, and again and again, or fast-forwarding past Big Bird because she was suddenly terrified of the color yellow.

‘I NO LIKE TWIDDLEBUGS!!!!!” she’d yell, invariably in the middle of a critical moment between the sheets.

“MOOOOMMMY! MAKE THE TWIDDLEBUGS GO AWAY!”

“DAAAADDY! I NEEEED YOU!”

“MOMMYDADDY MOMMYDADDY MOMMYDADDY! I DID A STINKY POOP!”

It’s not quite as seductive as the Sade my first boyfriend used to put on as our sex soundtrack, but well, it’s better than not having sex to the same soundtrack. It’s really amazing what you can block out and how quickly you can attain connubial bliss when you’ve got no other option.

There is of course the possibility of sex after the children go to bed. But let’s be frank. I can hardly maneuver the remote control at that hour, much less genitalia.

“It’s just so fatiguing," I tell David when he makes advances after dark.

“That’s not how I think about it at all,” he replies.

“Of course not,” I say, “You’re a man. Sex is no more exhausting to you than any other bodily function that must occur daily.”

Sometimes I can be convinced, especially if there is an enticing offer on the table, say that David will wake with the kids all night long, or let me sleep in the next morning. But usually I tell him to wait ‘til Noggin’ time, after I’ve had a strong cup of coffee, before the children have ravaged my resources of patience and perkiness.

Welcome to being married with children.