Will there be sex after the baby? Studies show that—on average, first-time parents have sex two to three times per month two months after the birth of their child. By the sixth month, they increase their rate to three to five times per month. Interestingly, parents with two or more children have sex an average of three to four times per month two months after delivery, and four to seven times per month at the six-month mark.

PREGNANCY ALBUMS

34, 33, 32, and 31 wadded by: cassander

There’s a byproduct at the end of pregnancy that many women do not know about: sciatic nerve pain.

Your sciatic nerve is one really big nerve that goes from your butt down to your ankle. If you’re pregnant and feel a little nerve pain anywhere from your bottom all the way down your leg, congrats, that is your sciatic nerve going off.

For some reason I’ll never exactly understand, I decided to go to the mega-store IKEA while nearing the end of my second pregnancy. I was heavily pregnant, carrying a monster baby in my belly and decided to browse futons and twin beds along with the rest of my city.

By the time I left IKEA, I could not walk. To make a long story short, I would not walk “normally” again until three weeks after my baby was born. Basically, my child was laying in an odd position and was pressing on my nerve.

I tried everything: ice, heat, rubbing, stretching, laying on the opposite side. Nothing worked. It got to the point where I could not walk to the bathroom without wanting to collapse in tears.

The highlight of this experience would be heading to the local Target store to buy a few needed items. Normally, I’d stay in the car with my nerve pain, but I was bored and wanted out.

I made it about halfway through the store before it happened: I couldn’t take one more step. I was already huge, which drew enough attention as it was. Add in the fact that I had a major limp and sort of drug my leg behind me, and I was a walking circus act.

Women would come up to me and offer their condolences. “How much longer?” they’d ask. They’d always have a look of sadness when I told them the number of weeks left.

“You poor thing,” they’d mutter before walking off.

My husband finally came to my rescue and made me climb aboard the shopping cart, my big belly facing outwards, performing its own version of Titanic’s “I’m the king of the world!”

I’m pretty sure everyone steered clear of our cart, with my belly pointing out as one heck of a hood ornament on the end.