This is my hair. Sometimes, my husband is behind me, passionately pulling it. Sometimes, my sleepy baby’s fingers are entwined in it. Most of the time, it’s pulled back, out of my face – so I can do yoga, cook or clean without it bothering me.

This is my mouth. Sometimes, it’s used on miscellaneous parts of my husband’s body. Sometimes, it’s kissing my son on the forehead while he sleeps. Most of the time, it’s simply used as my most basic form of communication.

These are my hands. Sometimes, they are touching my husband or myself in a sexual way. Sometimes, they are holding a tiny toddler hand with love and protection. Most of the time, they’re doing dishes, folding laundry, changing poopy diapers, or even writing a blog to get my feelings out.

These are my breasts. Sometimes, they are in my husband’s hands; it feels good when…