Well into my baby mama’s second trimester, a friend caught me on Facebook chat. “So, pregnancy sex all it’s cracked up to be?” he asked.

I explained that our relationship was still pretty new when Melina got pregnant, so we continued having sex a couple of times a day right through the first trimester. The second trimester slowed down a bit, but the intensity seemed to increase, and she became more intent on keeping me in bed in the mornings.

By our third trimester, however, her belly became a logistical complication. Nature offers any number of…um, entry points, but her climax became more difficult to achieve while mine seemed determined to lead by example. We consulted books and websites, not learning anything we couldn’t figure out on our own, and trying a variety of positions and methods, but nothing drove her hormones like good-old-fashioned missionary position. 

So we adjusted, reining in our passion and intensity at the beginning for a more deliberate, prolonged experience that involves a number of breathing and sensation relocation techniques for me. 

I still have a hard time getting out of bed in the morning.

“I think hot pregnancy sex,” my friend on FB says, “is evolution’s way of keeping the man in the cave when every other instinct tells him to run, run, run.”