Being Kendra (11 page)

1 handful broccoli

1 handful carrots

2 handfuls strawberries

2 handfuls blueberries

1 handful grapes

1 apple

1 orange

Add ingredients to juicer and liquefy.

I’ve learned a lot about nutrition, healthy eating, and recipes since I got married. I had pretty bad eating habits growing up, and then when I was living in the Playboy Mansion I had cooks at all hours of the day who would whip me up whatever I wanted: chocolate sundaes, greasy hamburgers, and pizza at three
A.M
. You might remember from
The
Girls
Next
Door
that I ate a lot of chicken fingers and fried foods and gained some weight as a result. Even though I learned some bad habits there, I also picked up some cooking tips by watching the cooks prepare food. Subconsciously I knew how to prepare delicious salads and veggie options—I just wasn’t acting on it! And, of course, living in Los Angeles gives you the ability to pretty much stop off anywhere and get fresh fruit, a salad, or a smoothie. The world was openly ready for me to get healthy, it was just going to take a lot of willpower.

Ever since then Hank and I have been on the same diet. Even when I was pregnant, Hank was on the same eating plan as me. If I was craving pickles with mashed potatoes, Hank would eat pickles and mashed potatoes. He loved it when I was pregnant; he thought it was a great excuse to chow down! Unfortunately, that’s when we both ditched our new diet plan. It was a junk food fest and he put on the “daddy fifteen pounds” before the baby was even born!

Hank and I love to spend time together, but when I was pregnant we’d be like two girls with the same mood swings, as if he had my menstrual cycle. Our energy was the same and a lot of that came from us sharing in a lot of bad eating habits. Pregnancy was my time to forget about dieting. I had spent the last four to five years trying to look a certain way and maintain an image that said “
Playboy,
” and whenever I got fat it was evident I should slow down on the eating. There were times at the mansion where I knew I was putting on the pounds, but it was a lot easier to take care of that problem then.

Pregnancy was a whole different ball game. I told myself I was allowed to get fat! I thought, “If I’m going to do this for the next nine months, I’m going to at least eat whatever I want.” I cared about avoiding caffeine and liquor, and I was very careful to make sure the baby got his nutrients, but I ate pretty much everything I wanted. Hank did too because he was always with me, so we were eating like there was no tomorrow. My stomach popped and I got big. And I couldn’t wear my sexy outfits anymore. But I loved being pregnant! I felt sexy even if I wasn’t. It’s all a mind-set, because during my pregnancy I felt like I glowed and Hank wanted me just as much as ever.

I’d eat batches of brownies in one sitting, literally a whole cake pan. I ate a lot at night. My stash of junk food was in my nightstand drawer. I pretty much moved the kitchen cabinet into my bedroom so I could access it quickly. I always had a huge box of Nutter Butters close by and I’d go through the whole box in one sitting. I was addicted to white cheddar popcorn—something about the salt and cheese—and I would devour it by the bag and then top it off with a whole bag of pistachios. I was obsessed with pistachios, although I guess you could technically say I was obsessed with everything. So we ended up having to separate and stay in different rooms—Hank slept on the couch for a lot of my pregnancy because otherwise he’d have been up all night snacking with me or, even worse, waking up at four
A.M
. to have some brownies. It was bad enough I was doing that; I certainly didn’t need him joining in. We were both ballooning and soon there’d be no room in bed for the both of us.

Caught! My cravings were kicking in, yet again.

Once Hank moved to the couch, it got even worse because I had free rein. Hank would sleep, and now I could chomp and chew all night without worrying about waking him. Plus I was up all night peeing and eating; it was a nightmare.

I didn’t want Hank to be on my pregnancy eating plan, especially since he (like me) makes a living out of being in shape. So eventually he got back on track, but I was still pigging out.

This went on for months, and I knew it was wrong but I was craving this stuff so bad there wasn’t much I could do to stop it. Having cravings during pregnancy is like a domino effect: The second you have a brownie, your body craves more and more. Until I gave birth and got that baby out of me, I was going to eat for two as long as I could. So the night before I went to the hospital to get induced, we ordered my last meal. We called it “the Last Supper,” and I chose McDonald’s. A McFlurry, fries, burgers, chicken McNuggets— we ordered it all. This was the last fattening meal I was going to eat because you can’t eat once you get to the hospital and I promised myself that after giving birth I’d get healthy again. I’m not a fast food person because I know how bad it is for you, but I thought, “If this is the last unhealthy meal I have, I’m going out with a bang.” And I did.

Speaking of going out with a bang, I convinced Hank to have a quickie with me before we left for the hospital. I said, “This is the last good sex we are going to have for a couple of months.” We went in the bedroom closet, because our family and friends and camera crews were all in the house waiting to document my going to the hospital—so we had to be careful and quiet. While we were in the closet, Hank was nervous and kept repeating, “We gotta get you there!” It was snowing outside, and he kept saying, “We have to go now. You’re scheduled to be induced in ten minutes!” I looked at him and said, “You can get the job done in three minutes. I just want to have a good three minutes of sex before they tear my vajayjay up forever!” (My C-section wasn’t planned, Hank Jr.’s head couldn’t fit through.)

Hank’s an overachiever and we did it for a good five minutes, surrounded by dresses, shirts, jackets, and dry cleaning. It was the best five minutes ever! I had always heard that after you give birth sex doesn’t feel good for a long time, so I wanted to enjoy myself one last time. And anyway, it’s good to have sex when you’re pregnant—it’s inducing! My last night of pregnancy was filled with fast food and fast sex.

W
ell, by now you’ve realized that I am not perfect and Hank isn’t either. But we do have amazing communication skills—especially when it comes to our sex life. We treat every day like we are still dating. Not becoming too comfortable in our relationship is the key. When people get comfortable they get bored and lazy. We don’t want to be one of those couples that fall into the mundane scheduling habit of “Here, lay down and get on your back and let’s do it real quick.” Hank and I have never been that couple and we do everything we can to make sure we don’t become that. That’s selfish. Hank and I need each other and we need sex from each other, so we work hard at it. If I forget that, I’m a lazy bum. The last thing I want to be as a wife is a lazy bum in bed. I know life is crazier than ever for most couples nowadays, but I can’t stress enough the importance of good sex in a marriage.

Before pregnancy Hank and I were like bunnies, having sex at least five days a week. Even though we were busy with football, filming the show, and appearances, we always had time for sex. We were young and in love. Guess what? Even though we’re married with a baby, we’re
still
young and in love and we love having sex. But we’ve hit bumps in the road along the way.

Now Hank and I don’t have sex every day anymore. I’m tired and too busy. But that doesn’t mean I don’t think about it all the time. Frankly, if you aren’t attracted to your partner and you don’t want to jump his bones every second you get, then maybe you are missing something in your relationship. I come home after a long day and instead of thinking, “The last thing I want to do right now is have sex,” I actually think the opposite. The first thing I want to do when I come home is have sex. As I said, we don’t always act upon it for a variety of reasons, but we sure do think about it.

During
Dancing
with
the
Stars
I had a practice session every single day that took about five hours in total. Wardrobe, hair and makeup, rehearsals, press, stretching, breaks, fueling up on carbs, and hydration—it’s exhausting. Plus, we were moving into a house, choosing paint, decorating, dealing with paperwork—I was a mess. And I was also writing this book, shooting my show
Kendra,
making appearances, and traveling, all while being a full-time mom and wife, so I had a lot going on. You’d think the first thing I’d cut from my jam-packed schedule would be getting intimate with my husband, but it’s actually a priority (and a stress reliever) that helps me handle all the other craziness that’s going on.

All day long it’s running around appeasing producers and show runners and media and networks and fans, and shopping for the family, and taking care of life. But sex—that’s me time. It’s not like something I have to do; it’s something I want to do and it’s a pleasure.

For a few months while we were finalizing the paperwork and getting the new house ready, we were living in a small apartment in Studio City, about a thousand square feet. It was a normal apartment in a normal apartment complex, meaning if we got too loud the neighbors would hear us. But it was a place we called home, along with my two dogs, Martini and Rascal, and Hank Jr.—who, technically a toddler now, was at that run-around-and-explore stage—and a variety of other people coming in and out of our home at all hours of the day. So the idea of Hank and I getting busy with Barry White playing on the stereo and cinnamon-scented candles burning with rose petals gently sprinkled on the floor was the furthest thing from our reality. We had to find other ways to be intimate and keep that connection with each other.

Hank and I have a great sexual relationship and we talk about sex just like we talk about anything else you could communicate about. We don’t shy away from it. When we get little ten-minute breaks during our busy schedules, we call and get each other all worked up. If I’m driving home from practice, I’ll call him and tease him a little. I just plant the idea in his head with a little flirty comment. We don’t have to do it every day, but we talk about it. Of course it’s not all we talk about; we certainly discuss a million other things, like bills, Hank Jr., work, family, and life. But those quick phone calls and flirty messages help to keep the heat going, even if we have to wait three days before we get the chance to have sex.

So when I get home at nine
P.M.
after a full day and I come in the door dead exhausted, I take comfort in the idea that I am home with the man I love and I’m going to turn off the world outside, kiss my husband, and just say, “Let’s do it.” And is he going to turn that down? No. He’s a man.

Even though it’s sometimes quick and not completely spontaneous, we have great sex. In fact, while I was on
Dancing
with
the
Stars
, the sex was better than ever. I’m flexible, I’m strong, I’m confident, and Hank is noticing it. All day long I was stretching, getting blood flowing, and working my body so it was just itching to have sex. I once Tweeted, “Sooo Louis [my
DWTS
partner], thanks for warming me up for my hubby tonight.” I had spent three hours grinding on the dance floor with another man. All I wanted to do when I got home was have great sex with my husband, Hank. So I did.

You don’t always have to be spontaneous—sometimes we are just working toward having sex in forty-eight hours’ time, not necessarily right now. When you are married to someone, you see that person more than anyone else. You’re always there, always together, always in contact. But Hank and I never let that make our sex life mundane. We act as if we are still dating. And going out to dinner or spending time together isn’t always a guarantee we’re going to have sex! I’m not a “sure thing”! It has to feel right.

We still play it the same way as when we were dating. The rock on the finger and the piece of paper don’t change who we are. Hank still holds the door for me, lets me order first, knows what wine I like, and is an all-out gentleman who makes me want him more than ever. You have to put in the effort. You can’t let your looks get away from you and you can’t let your manners get away from you. Hank works hard at being Hank, the man I met and first fell in love with. And that’s hot as hell.

We had sex all throughout my pregnancy. We were not gentle at all. Sure, we were careful at first, because the first month is the most risky, but once we realized we couldn’t hurt the baby (or poke it), we started to relax and get really wild. By the third month, around the time of our wedding, we were having a ton of sex. I loved feeling different, I loved the fullness in my body. It really made me feel like a woman, and Hank didn’t mind the extra weight. It’s almost like having sex with a completely different person when their body is so much bigger! As you know, we had sex in the back of a limo on the way to the hotel. I basically just threw my wedding dress over my head and we had sex. Something about being pregnant made me super horny. I wanted a lot of sex and Hank was happy to oblige. At the end of my pregnancy, it got more difficult because I was so heavy. It just became awkward and there’s not much you can do except plain old stick it in.

But as any mom knows, in the months directly after the birth, the sex situation can get a little tense. For us, it was a disaster, for me especially. After Hank Jr. was born, sex went out the window big-time. There were a variety of reasons, one of which was the C-section I had, so I was in pain. The last thing I wanted to do was physical activity, let alone have sex (not to mention the six-week “no sex” rule the doctors advised). But in addition to any physical pain, mentally I wasn’t there either. I felt fat, I felt ugly, and now that I was a mom I thought I had to be very conservative.

I got a whole new wardrobe complete with turtlenecks and “mom jeans.” I just assumed that a mom shouldn’t be dressing sexy anymore. I thought I had to do away with my thongs and tight tops. Plus, regardless of what I assumed, I just wasn’t feeling sexy anyway. Covering up seemed like a smart thing to do. I started wearing stuff that wasn’t me, clothes that made me depressed. I didn’t know it but dressing like someone else, thinking I had to act a different way, and looking in the mirror and not knowing who I was could be a really depressing thing. I was lost. I wasn’t being myself, and our sex life suffered. I wore oversize outfits while purposely trying to hide my body. The amount of sex we were having went down to twice a month. I finally realized what was going on after my bout with postpartum depression and I changed and started to be me again. But it took forever.

I had given in to all of that labeling stuff, ideas about what I should be doing and what I shouldn’t. Why was I going to be someone I’m not? Having a baby doesn’t mean I can’t dress sexy or act a certain way. Our little boy is going to grow up and know me and who I am and what I do and what I’ve done and he’s going to love me and I’m going to love him. Love is all that matters—not what you wear and how you wear it. I think a lot of us get caught up in too many other ideas of who we should be around our children. My mind was clouded.

After pregnancy I dealt with a lot of heavy emotional stuff. And one of the side effects of all that was that I lost my sex drive. I didn’t know who I was. I felt self-conscious. And I had my C-section scar and I didn’t want Hank or anyone to see. I’d turn the lights off because I had my stitches down there and it was just gross. I see it every single day, although now it’s more of a reminder than a bother. It’s so much a part of me now I don’t even think of it as a scar, it’s just there. But at first I hated it. It was a long red cut with black stitches and it was nasty. And it really hurt because any time I bent over or moved quickly, the stitches and the scar would stretch. Still to this day when I do an abs workout, I feel like I don’t have feeling or tightness in my ab muscles anymore, and my scar still tingles. The C-section may have “healed” six weeks after birth, but any time I’m doing physical activity I’m reminded that the scar is still there.

Thankfully we got out of our slump, which came naturally as I began to work out more and, of course, when I finally got the weight off. We’re now back to two to three times a week. Are you shocked to hear I have sex only a couple of times a week? That’s the perfect amount for us.

I’m so open when it comes to talking about sex because it’s natural. It’s just like farting, we all do it. Anything that has to do with nature I don’t hold back. We all have sex; why not talk about it and compare and ask questions? I’m also a huge believer in getting it on when you need to get it on.

I’m all about sex in a car and spontaneous places. I’m all about sex in public as long as you know that no one’s watching, but if you feel like one eye is on you then I don’t think it’s okay. I wouldn’t like it if people watched me like that. I’m not an exhibitionist, though some people get off on stuff like that.

The craziest place that Hank and I ever had sex was on a Jet Ski in Cabo in the middle of the ocean. We kind of parted from our friends a little bit and I was in the front of the Jet Ski and he was in the back. I was driving and we just stood up and did it. There was something just so hot about us in our bathing suits, all wet, and it was sunny out and we were pressed up against each other and I just wanted Hank right then and there. No one was around, so why not? We were far out, so we knew no one was watching. It was great, because at the same time we were Jet Skiing we were having amazing sex. The bumps from the waves were just making it ten times better. The wind was flying through my hair, Hank was really getting into it, the sun was on me, and I was flying on the Jet Ski! When I hit the gas, the motor (Hank’s and the Jet Ski’s) really got going. Sun glistening, salt water splashing—I was in heaven! Public sex when no one is watching is awesome. You get such a rush because you know you are doing something against the rules and you need to hurry before you get caught. It’s thrilling to know that you could get caught at any moment.

That said, sex in a bed is so damn boring. I try to avoid the bed as much as possible. Why limit yourself? The bed is the bed, it’s where you sleep and read. Would you exercise in bed? No. So I try not to have sex there; it’s just not an exciting place to be. If you have nowhere else then it’s fine, but most people should be able to come up with other, more exciting places. A chair by the bed, a desk, up against the wall, anything other than the bed works. On the counter in the kitchen is a great place. I think anything in your house that you can sit on or stand against is fair game. You have to visualize yourself everywhere in your house and say, “Can I have sex there?” On the toilet, in the closet, on a table, in the shower, in the bath. Every place will be a new experience. There are so many different angles that you could be reaching depending on where you are sitting or how you are positioned, and it feels so much better. Deeper, longer, harder—you get so much more out of sex not being in bed. Think of it like a car; would you rather ride in a Ferrari or ride in an Oldsmobile? That’s the difference. The bed is an Oldsmobile. Most people are missing out on the Ferrari! It’s about the fun and the experience. You shouldn’t be concentrating on just up and down, up and down, up and down. Sex is more than up and down. Basically, if you are in my house, there’s a very good chance that wherever you are sitting or standing, we’ve had sex there. Sorry! (Luckily I’m obsessed with cleaning and disinfecting, so don’t worry.)