I don’t need a therapist. I need Morgan Stanley.

I am neglecting my marriage.

My husband and I have not had a date night in months.

A while back, I wrote this post about making deposits.

Last night I went out with 2 people under the age 30, and I confessed to them that,

well,

I haven’t made a deposit in over a month.

They looked at me with a look of horror on their faces.

My 25-year-old self would never believe this to be possible either.

I’ve been holding onto an argument again.

And I was rightly upset.

But it’s not healthy to be stewing for this long.

At some point I need to just let it go.

Here is the other problem.

Having sex is a serious investment these days.

And if I’m going to make the investment, I want it to pay out some serious  dividends.

I love married sex.

It’s better than single sex.

Way better.

You know each other.

You feel comfortable with each other.

You know just what to do.

And so does your husband.

You don’t feel the need to contort yourself into really unflattering,

uncomfortable,

and,

let’s be honest,

unsatisfying positions in order to impress your man.

Although, if you want to try something new,

you also feel comfortable enough to propose trying it.

But getting to the sex part takes work.

You can’t just throw the kids into bed,

shut the door,

and then get down to business.

You need some decompression time.

After 2 or 3 or 10 hours of screaming,

fighting,

crying,

bleeding,

peeing,

puking,

pooping,

wiping,

finding,

negotiating,

and refereeing,

you don’t just want to jump into someone else touching you.

At all.

You may need a shower.

And alcohol.

Then you need to talk to your spouse about the schedule for the next day.

And there you are talking about the kids again.

Not exactly an aphrodisiac.

So you need to get back into the deposit mindset.

By this point, it’s well past 11 pm.

If you are lucky, you can proceed to the next step without a kid waking up,

and crying,

or coming downstairs,

or needing water,

or wetting their bed.

And since you are already up past your bedtime, you want to make it count.

Well I do, anyway.

If I’m gonna do it,

I wanna really do it.

So by the time your investment has been made,

it’s way after midnight.

The next day,

you’re exhausted.

But you think about how great the night before was.

And say to your husband,

“Let’s go crazy.

Let’s go for two in a row.”

Of course,

he’s up for that.

But then 9:00 p.m. rolls around.

Your enthusiasm,

and energy,

have dwindled.

You’re on the couch.

He’s in the chair.

You look at him.

He knows what you’re going to say.

“Maybe tomorrow,” he says.

And the cycle starts all over again.

If I’m gonna change this, I need to start putting the kids to bed around 6 pm.

Either that,

or hire an investment banker.

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