I have to find a nice and inoffensive metaphor for (how shall I put this?), marital relations. Not the intimacy of words shared by those living together, but the other kind of intimacy. The kind not to be mentioned, discussed, or ever analyzed, even if secretly and ceaselessly pined for by all those past puberty. I have to find this metaphor so that, as I tackle this article on one aspect of a woman’s postnatal rebirth, I will not be gathered into the warm embrace of Pakistan’s obscenity laws. How ironic it is that simply analyzing our desire (or lack thereof) for one kind of tentacle could propel us into envelopment by another. How obscene that openness and honesty could lead to imprisonment. Anyway, here goes my search for that metaphor…

My first stop is the vegetable stand. Onions could work because they must be peeled before being consumed. But onions are also stinky and make you cry after peeling so they won’t do. Though when you think about it, new mothers are often stinky because they don’t get much time for personal hygiene and hormonal fluctuations make them needlessly weepy and their husbands are hence afraid to approach them, much less peel them, so maybe they will do after all. So my question, put as plainly as possible, is: why do lush strawberries inviting generous dollops of whipped cream turn into untouchable onions immediately after they reproduce?

Medical science says a woman is best left alone for six weeks after giving birth because her physical self is in a highly delicate state and needs to heal but realistically speaking, most relationships take far longer than that to return to normal. Normal, of course, means husband and wife being more to each other than roommates, confidantes and caregivers to an infant.

Check out any post-natal relationship message board and you’ll find the most popular thing said is “help …I’ve just had a baby and my libido has disappeared off to Outer Mongolia without leaving any contact details for me to get back in touch with it!” Replies (also posted by women) begin with “Me too!” They go on to suggest it has little to do with simply physical healing and more to do with that other creature women give birth to on the side, the hydra of exhaustion, insecurity and resentment.

New fathers wondering what has happened to their wives should first try to comprehend the exhaustion. Yes, going to work from 9-5 (or 7 to 9) is really tiring, but for men there is an easily identifiable end to the workday. Mothers don’t have that luxury. Babies, especially in the early days, need to be watched, fed, burped, touched, changed etc. almost constantly. They don’t recognize the difference between night and day. Like the boss from hell, a baby has the utmost contempt for schedules and deadlines. Mothers don’t get a weekend off to recharge, and you can forget about getting back in touch with that inner femme fatale (who’s off in Mongolia with the libido). Choosing a nap or a trashy TV show over cuddles (and more) isn’t a rejection of the man they love, desire or have married, it’s simply the earth asking for a breather after continents have shifted.

Like the Ents from The Lord of the Rings, insecurity has a double-pronged base. One is the search for a sense of self. Like your favourite pair of pre-maternity jeans, the old identity doesn’t fit anymore. Birth and the subsequent care of a baby might mean a woman has actualized the mother aspect of herself, but initially it feels like you’re wearing borrowed finery. Sure, you’re technically a mother but are you a good mother? Are you a bad mother? Are you even a mother at all or a surrogate for the instincts of various grandparents? If your maternal instincts were evaluated on a scale of one to ten would you compare favorably to other mothers? Self-doubt is a silent but deadly form of eroticide.

Second is the physical insecurity. Right around the second trimester, the lean lover aspect rolls out of a pregnant woman’s pocket and into a dusty nook somewhere. A succulent strawberry looks in the mirror to find it’s a gnarly onion. Not a smaller strawberry, or a lesser berry but a totally unrelated (and much larger) onion. The flesh that helps a mother nourish her baby also shrouds her desirability in whale blubber. Blame Cosmopolitan, blame FTV, blame whomever you like: a woman’s perception of her own desirability is dictated by the perceptions of others. Others indicate thin is in, stout is out. Being pregnant gives you the “temporarily functioning as carrier basket” excuse for being fat. Postnatal reality is not quite as forgiving. New mothers require oodles of affection and bushels of compliments to begin thinking of themselves as desirable again. Most men know about seven. It becomes a vicious cycle:

“I look horrible.”

“Nonsense. You’re not fat.”

“Fat? Who said I was fat? Ohmigod you think I’m fat.”

“I don’t think you’re fat. I think you’re very attractive for someone who’s feeding a baby.”

“Feeding a baby? Is that all I am to you? A milk machine?”

The husband feels he’s being attacked. The wife feels she’s lost her femininity. Then the baby has to be fed before this ageless spat can be resolved by making up in the nicest possible way. Which to new mothers generally means comfort food and a good half hour of naptime. This in turn means carbohydrates, which are converted into more fat because of a sedentary host (try breastfeeding on a treadmill). Which leads to the metamorphosis from hot body to aunty body (like antibodies in that they’re great at repelling infections like affection).

Resentment is perhaps the easiest part of the emotional problem to explain. When it comes to parenting, women do more, men do less. Baby crying? Mother picks up. Mother familiar. Baby no cry. Baby cry again. Father picks up. Baby keeps crying. Father counts to five. Father gives baby back. Multiply by 59 into infinity. Balance unequal. Men not appreciative. Think earning money cancels parenting debt. Insensitive bastard turnip heads. Certainly not getting any from unpaid, unappreciated, housemaid cum milk machine. Clear?

There can be other more specific reasons for onion syndrome. Some women suffer from post-natal depression, one of the symptoms of which is loss of libido. Others, whose lives regain some semblance of normalcy relatively quickly, find things just aren’t the same and decide it’s a nice place to visit occasionally but you wouldn’t want to live there. Tragically, the drives aren’t the same for hormonal reasons but will probably get better once the breastfeeding stops, but then who’s going to tell a mother that? Their gynaecologist? I heard one gynaecologist telling a young woman “well it’s supposed to hurt. Whatever you do, don’t say no or he’ll get angry.”

So is childbirth the ending of one story and the beginning of another? Will the lover be laid to rest as the mother appears on the horizon with the asexual halo around her head and enough space between her feet and the earth to allow heaven to step in? Will the fairy godmother (or in some cases fairy stylist from top salon) wave her (or his) magic wand and turn the gnarly onion into a succulent strawberry again? Will I go to hell for weaving imagery around the notion of a fairy stylist waving his magic wand around? Dr William R. Styaton, President of the American Association of Sex Educators, Counselors and Therapists, says there is hope. If not for my imagery and I, then for other married couples.

In his article “Sex after baby: A time of vulnerability” (he’s not so burdened by the weight of the metaphor) which can be found on ivillage.com (online women’s community), he writes about how the key to a mutually satisfying relationship is finding a balance between maintenance and nurturance. Maintenance is defined as “the tasks necessary for living, such as eating, sleeping, working” while nurturance is “building and keeping the relationship alive”. Nurturance, which was predominant pre-marriage, gets neglected after children are born. With a little extra effort, he feels, it can regenerate, leading to a record yield in a couple’s sexual crop. That effort involves honesty, openness, caring and most importantly intention. Duh.

Basically, husbands and wives must plan, scheme and connive to bring some much-needed sun back into their romantic lives after a baby. Husbands should understand it’s largely a matter of allowing their wives time and space to adjust. They have not been replaced by the addition to their family but rather augmented, perhaps even more adored (after all, he can’t be that bad if he helped create this little darling).

Women should resist the urge to make shaljum ghost of their significant others.