Now that I have your attention, let’s actually talk about sex. Today is Valentine’s Day, a holiday I never fully appreciated until Finn Gunn was born. Most men—me included—tend to not think about Valentine’s Day until sometime between the final moments of the Super Bowl and, well, today. But ever since I was blessed with a beautiful baby boy, I’ve loved Valentine’s Day—I look forward to it for weeks in advance. Why? Because on Valentine’s Day there’s about an 85 percent chance I’m going to have some sex.

Don’t get me wrong, I have a pretty good sex life. But I’ll admit that I get nowhere near the same “action” that I used to. I’m a dad. My lover is my wife, and she’s a mom. ‘Nuff said.

Nap Time
A little while back I posted this Facebook status update: “…it’s Saturday afternoon and the baby’s asleep—what else are we going to do?”

One friend, who has a couple kids of his own, commented: “TMI!”

He got the joke. Humor is funny because it’s true and the most basic reality of parental coitus is that nap time is prime time.

But there’s got to be more—much more. Because I’m no expert in the matter, I sought insights and ideas from a handful of my friends who are dads. Their contributions are anonymous—their use of four-letter words sanitized.

Make the Effort
Nothing worth doing is easy. Two of my friends—one with two kids and one whose wife is about to give birth to their second child any minute now—had basically the same advice.

“Make time,” said one guy. “Forget about being tired—get used to it. It’s easy to get into the daily grind of being a parent and forget that you’re also a husband and friend.”

“Put down the remote control, and take control of your sex life,” the other guy said. “We watch too much TV as a society, and relaxing in front of TV is something that parents just default to doing. I’d rather spend a half hour [lovemaking] than watching ‘Friends’.”

Date Night (& Day)
Use the babysitter in a different way. That didn’t sound quite the way I’d meant it to, but I’m sticking with it because it made me laugh. In all seriousness, make “date night out” into a “date day in.” Have the babysitter take the wee ones out to the park, the recreation center, or someplace else (really, who cares where they go?), and go nuts on each other.

Here’s what one friend (who has one kid) said. “We called in sick to work and had [the nanny] take [the child] out for the whole day. We drank, we [had sex], and we did the same [poop] we did before we were married. We [had sex] three times that day. It was like our honeymoon. [Poop], we need to do that again.”

Couch Surfing
This one comes from a friend who has two kids. “This is going to sound [particularly strange], but it helped to stop [lovemaking] in the bedroom.”

Say what? That helps? I won’t go into the rest of my colorful friend’s colorful email, but he’s totally right.

Remember back before you were married? That time when the notion of walking fifteen feet from the living room to the bedroom was just way too much of a hassle—you had to have each other RIGHT BLEEPING NOW.

Go back to that place in your life. Maybe that place is the living room, maybe it’s the kitchen, and maybe it’s the rooftop of your apartment building…

To borrow a phrase from that hotel chain: “Whatever, wherever, whenever.”

Add your comments below. And… Happy Valentine’s Day!

In December 2008, Doug Wyllie became a first-time dad. A veteran of more than ten years in corporate communications and journalism, Doug was writing about streaming video before YouTube, digital music before Napster, and wireless technology since the original Palm Pilot debuted. Doug presently serves as the editor of PoliceOne, where he writes on a broad range of topics and trends that affect public safety professionals. Here, Doug writes about all sorts of poop.

I don’t subscribe to the notion that certain foods have magical, labor-inducing properties but if you’re really ready to pop, a big bucket of extra-crispy fried chicken with all the “fixins” did the trick for us. Of course, that was incredibly coincidental and entirely accidental.

Oh, and totally delectable, but I digress…

With a week still to go until our official “due date”—for me, that phrase should only apply to library books, not little babies—Penelope called out the words that will forever be cemented in my memory: “Ah, uh, honey… I, um… I think my water broke.”

I’m not sure how I did it, but I remained calm, walking (not running) into the room.

“How do you feel?” I asked.

I’m not sure how she did it, but Penelope also remained calm. “Fine, actually.”

After talking with the nurse assigned to our baby-catcher’s after-hours line, we came to the mutual conclusion that the very top of her bag had broken, but no contractions had begun. “Stay home,” she said. “Wait it out there,” she said.

Okay, cool… that’s easy for you to say, but we’ll do it.

We’d “waited it out” for about ten hours, and by morning it was evident that we’d need to head to the hospital. I grabbed our “go bag” and gingerly drove the predawn streets to the facility we would come to call the Cherry Street Bed & Breakfast.

A couple of months ago, Dana—my friend and fellow blogger—asked what had helped our readers during their own extended stays in the hospital.

For me and my wife, it is without question the extraordinary quality of the care we received. Several of our friends had had their babies delivered at CSB&B. We’d visited them during those times and had been impressed. We’d taken an extensive tour, and were again impressed.

When we arrived that Monday morning, we were pretty sure we’d selected the best place and best people available to us. Five days later, we were dead-square certain of it.

When we learned that our carefully-chosen delivery doctor would be long gone from the hospital by the time our son made his highly-anticipated arrival, we were understandably disappointed—but delighted to discover that the person who stood in her stead was outstanding.

When it became clear that we’d be staying a while, they assigned us to a room in which there was a spare bed for me to sleep—there was ample available space so this didn’t put any undue strain on the installation, but they had absolutely no obligation to make me feel comfortable.

When we had questions—pretty much the entire duration of our stay—answers were understandable and immediate. When it was time to go home, the transition was seamless.

When I look back and recollect where I was one year ago, I’m reminded of the incredibly good fortune we’ve had. When I look ahead and contemplate the myriad possibilities that lie ahead for Finn Gunn, my mind boggles and I yearn for the creature comforts of the Cheery Street Bed & Breakfast.

In December 2008, Doug Wyllie became a first-time dad. A veteran of more than ten years in corporate communications and journalism, Doug was writing about streaming video before YouTube, digital music before Napster, and wireless technology since the original Palm Pilot debuted. Doug presently serves as the editor of PoliceOne, where he writes on a broad range of topics and trends that affect public safety professionals. Here, Doug writes about all sorts of poop.

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My husband and I both know that this is for the best and it will ensure a healthy new baby daughter and healthy me.

The hardest part has been being away from my 2.5 year old daughter, who is having a difficult time with mommy being away from home. Luckily, my husband brings her almost every evening to have dinner with me and spend some time. Not the same, but the best we can do.

Did you have to endure bedrest for a pregnancy and if so, what helped you to get through it?