Apparently, (which I must start with because no one, not even my own sisters, my own flesh and blood, my closest of kin took the time to warn me of this ahead of time, therefore preparing me for the torment that awaited me) like I said, apparently, as if giving birth to an 8 pound bowling ball of a child is not enough, there are certain parts of you that will never be the same and therefore certain activities you once engaged in will never be the same as well. What's a little sex between friends, eh? Let's just call it "getting back in the game".
So to "get back in the game" you must pass through a gauntlet of obstacles arranged by nature to inhibit you from partaking in said "game". First, may all of God's good luck be with you as you try to occupy and/or quiet the child for 15 minutes of peace. Then, you must find the strength of ten men to decide you have enough energy to return to the game. Also, when numbers 1 and 2 are actually going for you, you must be prepared by actually giving a damn what you look like and therefore must return to the land of shaved legs and managing body odor. (Sidebar: you may realize number 3 is no longer important due to the length of time that has elapsed since the last game you and your partner engaged in). Next, how do I put this gently? You should have both of your life insurance policies up to date before engaging in "the game" because once you realize the magnitude with which your "parts" have changed, you may want to stop your husband from ever taking another breath. Was that harsh? My apologies, how about ...from ever feeling joy or happiness in his lifetime. Yes, that will work too. But in any case, you might as well cover your bases and make sure you're financially stable (since you have two mouths to feed now), and get the policy increased.
In summary: it ain't gonna be easy and it ain't gonna be pretty but at least your team is still on the field. [End of football analogy. Thank God.]