Six months after my second baby my husband looked at me across the kitchen and said "what did you DO?" That's the review. But y'all came for details so let's go.
Here's what nobody says out loud. After two kids I looked fine. Jeans fit. Cute in every picture. And the second the lights went off I was somewhere else — in my head, waiting for it to be over.
Not because anything hurt. Because I didn't feel like ME in there anymore. And you cannot fake confidence you don't have.
So I stopped starting things. Then I started dodging. Six months of "I'm so tired babe" laying wide awake next to a man who ain't do nothing wrong.
I wasn't tired. I was hiding.
I ordered at 1am fully expecting to be disappointed
Can I Come Over?! Bundle. Half asleep, card out, zero faith.
Sweet Like Honey got me first and I wasn't even trying to be got. My old drugstore wash had me tight and itchy and I thought that was clean. It's not. It's stripped. Two days on the honey wash and that raw feeling was GONE. Smell handled itself too.
Bomb Kitty — two drops out the shower, skin still warm. Goes on like silk. My husband asked what perfume I switched to. It's not perfume. It's nowhere near where he thinks it's coming from 😭
Now the pops. This is the whole reason I'm writing this.
Thirty little gold pops in the jar. You slip one in before and let it do its thing. Takes four seconds. Nothing on the counter, nothing to explain to nobody.
First one. SAME NIGHT.
Tight. Everything firm and held and closer, and I felt it before anybody else was even in the room. And the wetness came right along with it — I'm talking natural, no bottle, none of that reaching-for-something energy. Grip and slip at the same time, exactly like they say.
Then the sensitivity showed up and honestly that's the one that got me. After two kids I had made peace with finishing being a whole project. A timeline. That is OVER. It got easy. It got fast. It got better than before I had my girls and I have never said that out loud to a human being.
Everything closer. Everything louder. Same night.
The night he asked
Kids at my mama's. Girls' night cancelled. I'd used one earlier just because, and I was in the good lingerie for no reason except I had started feeling like a woman who wears the good lingerie.
Caught myself in the mirror walking past the bathroom and actually stopped. Not inspecting nothing. Just stopped, looked, and thought: oh. There she is.
Then I did something I hadn't done in half a year. I texted my husband — who was DOWNSTAIRS, forty feet away — and told him to come up.
I'ma spare y'all the rest. What I will say is at some point that night he stopped, looked at me, and asked me that question I opened this whole thing with. And I did not do one second of math in my head. I was there for all of it.
The Climaxx though
Warming, slick, goes on last over everything. Turns a good night into the one you're still thinking about Tuesday at your desk. It's the one my husband has personally asked me not to run out of. Make of that what you want.
Empty jar
Ran out on a Sunday and reordered before I put the empty in the trash. Not on a schedule — because the thought of a Friday coming and me not having one in that drawer? Absolutely not.
Six jars in now. He stopped asking what I did. Now he just says thank you, which is funnier.
If you're the woman laying up next to somebody saying you're tired — you're not tired and you already know it.
Order the jar. And when he asks what you did, tell him whatever you want.
