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I Will Not Become a Mom Sex Statistic

A few months ago, I read somewhere that one in four couples stops having sex after having a baby ... forever. As in, never again. Not "take a few months off." Not "have it 70 percent less than before." Forever. As in they will not be having sex anymore.

Oh, come on!

But, as I was musing about how long "forever" really meant to these couples, about what kind of sad relationship these sexless couples were having, I started to think about the last time I had sex. And here's the thing—I couldn't effing remember.

RELATED: The Real Deal on New Parent Sex

I tried to make myself feel better by focusing on the fact that I don't remember most things anymore. I tried to quiz my recall: When did I last speak to my mother? When did I last shave my legs? When was the last time I ate at Taco Bell? I spoke to my mom last week. I don't remember the shaving. And I ate Taco Bell two weeks ago. But the point is this: Even if my crap memory only goes back a few weeks, it has no recollection of me having sex with my husband in at least the last few weeks.

"OMG, is that me?! Am I the one in four? Do I have that sad, sexless relationship? Is this the beginning of forever?"

I consider myself a very sexual person. Having sex is important to me. Before the birth of my daughter a little over a year ago, I used to have it—used to need it—daily. It was a requirement for me to be in a good mood. I used to skip the section of the What to Expect books about "sex after baby" and dismiss the articles about "how to spice it up" as a mommy. I already had one child, and it hadn't changed a thing in that department. I didn't need to read that stuff. They weren't talking to me. No. I was borderline nympho.

Of course I took a break from the nookie after my daughter was born. But after six weeks and some healing, I was good to go again. No, it wasn't daily, but in the 2nd through the 12th month post-baby, my husband and I were having sex regularly. And then there was the slump, which just kind of happened without me realizing.

Cut to commercial where the woman looks at herself in the mirror and sees herself in a short, hot, cleavage-baring dress, then turns around to look again and she's wearing a Baby Bjorn and palazzo pants. And she's cut her own bangs.

I took back my inner nympho.

Though I want to pretend that I'm not, I'm even more tired than I ever was when my baby was just a few months old. She walks and climbs and needs constant chasing. Combine that with my failed efforts at sleep-training her, and working all day, and it's a terrible setup for spry, energetic sex. The endorphins and new baby adrenaline—which carried me through and kept me knockin' the boots for the first year after birth—have tanked, leaving me more exhausted than ever.

Right after the baby, I wasn't so worried about what my body looked like. I had an excuse for it all—I JUST HAD A DAMN BABY! And my boobs were HUGE, so who cared what else was happening. It's been over a year now, and I'm aware of my post-baby body. It's difficult not to feel gross even when he says I'm beautiful.

But as legitimate as these excuses were, they were still excuses. I realized I needed to do something. I needed to take back my big-breasted nurse! I was not going to "not have sex forever!"

I realized my sexuality is a big part of who I am, that a healthy sex life is important to my well-being. I'd been feeling rather depressed in recent months, and I just pinned it on being run-down. I'd been feeling gross, and old. And gross. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized that in neglecting my sex life, I was neglecting me. Expressing myself in that way brings me happiness, a sense of self, confidence. But it's a bit of a vicious cycle. When you are tired and don't feel sexy, you don't feel like having sex. And when you don't have sex, you don't feel sexy. Well, the cycle just had to be broken.

So that week, I took back my inner nympho. I would NOT be the one in four. Not this tigress. I made a decision to make my sex life a priority. I started planning my days to make time for nookie. I began getting my daughter to sleep early enough so that I wouldn't crash and lose the opportunity to be close to my husband (acting out my ringmaster/lion fantasy). To really embrace myself, every extra pound, every jiggle, every mark. To proudly pull out my crystal-embellished whip! And, since then, it's not only brought me out of my funk, but it has also made me a better wife (mmm, hmmm) and mother because I'm being true to me, again, feeding my needs so I can more happily feed my children's.

RELATED: 10 Ways Kids Ruin Your Sex Life

It's easy when you're a mom to feel guilty, especially about prioritizing something so un-mom-like as sex. But whatever it is—be it your love of gardening, love of Mod Podge, your love of watching House of Cards—if it is part of who you are and a means of expressing yourself, you cannot neglect it.

So thank God for that article, and its one-in-four statistic. Its "stupid" headline saved me from becoming part of that (probably bogus) statistic, but more importantly, helped me get back to myself.

Photo by Jamie Grill/Getty Images

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