Note to the readers who actually know me in real life, you've been warned. This will make you look at me funny the next time you see me.
There are some wonderful, and not so wonderful, aspects to making love while bearing a bun in the so-called oven. Here are a few tips that randomly come to mind that I feel like inflicting upon you all (well, though of you who have not run screaming yet).
1) Rest Assured: Unless your lover is the result of a genetic experiment in which he holds the genes of both John Holmes and Ron Jeremy, you needn't fear poking your progeny with his pecker. Your man may flatter himself that he's quite the stallion, but it just won't happen.
2) Enjoy the differences: Having huge sensitive boobs and increased blood flow to your nether regions can be very enjoyable. Carpe Diem and enjoy the hell out of those differences.
3) Comfort: Find a position that won't leave you weeping in agony or frustration. And if you are in an awkward position, laugh it off and shift yourself. Lying on your side, doing the good old-fashioned pose of the canine variety, or even on top are all possibilities, though I tend not to want to do the "on top" thing when I'm likely to be really distracted by my huge belly. I just feel like an enormous bouncing beach ball under those circumstances and would probably terrify my poor husband beneath me.
4) Get a-head: This is purely my own preference... I'm not a big fan of receiving oral sex when I worry about my husband's forehead smacking against my gut. Not a turn on for me. You're a better woman than I if that doesn't bug you. But giving is just as fun as it always was.
5) Post-orgasm weirdness: Little did we know when we were not pregnant, but the uterus goes rock hard after we've finished having our scream-down-the-house, make-the-neighbors-jealous orgasms. This becomes increasingly obvious when your uterus is now the size of a very small planet. This may be odd but the great thing about this is, should your baby be awake, you won't know it. So you needn't worry about getting creeped out at the reminder that your child was just present, and most likely heard you tell your man just how hard you wanted it, how big he is, and how hot it makes you when he calls you his naughty little Arab wench. Just in case, you can always just start up a therapy fund along with that college one.
I've got a few mothers and mother-to-be who read this blog, feel free to add your own thoughts (anonymously, if you so wish!) I'll add more as they come to me. No pun intended.