#MomFail: 24 Authors & 24 Mom-Coms Page 2

  Let’s insert the cries of hunger…

  Like seriously, it’s getting louder and louder, and I kept trying to talk to him to calm him down. Finally, close to home, we turned down our road and yes I might have been speeding just a tiny bit… Get ready… Mom fail at its glory…

  I turned on the sharp curve—

  slower than before on the straight road—and all of a sudden instead of the cries that were happening, I heard fits of giggling escaping from the backseat. I took a moment to glance in the rearview mirror and noticed right away something was wrong.

  I no longer saw his face…

  Nope, instead I saw the upside down car seat in the backseat…

  Should I have pull off into the woods and upright him, taking the chance of popping my bra and pissing him off even more, or keep going?

  I was less than a half of a mile from my driveway…

  Should I stop?

  Should I drive?

  What should I do?

  Insert the struggle now…

  I decided to keep driving, to lower my panic as I drove slowly with him hanging upside down in the car seat laughing his little butt off in the backseat.

  Once we got home, I threw the car in park, turned the engine off, and bounced out of my seat to get to my child. I worked myself up so much that I was in a complete panic because I had no idea how this had happened, and I needed to make sure that he’s okay. I needed to examine him to make sure he wasn’t hurt. I needed to feed him because I was now soaked once again and looked a hot mess.

  Standing in my driveway with a drenched shirt, a laughing baby, and an upside down car seat that I had just flipped back over to get him from, I was in a state of confusion and shock—or an actual meltdown—either way, the neighbors were staring like I was a crazy lady.

  After inspecting the car seat it ended up that I had placed the seat in the super cool bracket thing, but forgot to buckle the seatbelt over him to secure it.

  Thankfully nothing happened, and I’m a pretty safe driver. But each day after that I would triple check to verify that he was buckled in. Needless to say that night I didn’t mind being his human pacifier, and I let him nurse for as long as he felt it was needed. I mean, we had just survived our first accident that night, and I knew we would have many more to come.

  Now that he’s a teenager and I’ve told him this story a few times, we use it with everything.

  When he’d bust up a knee from falling off his bike, I’d say, “At least you didn’t tip from the seat again.”

  It’s funny now, but honestly for about three months I worried that I was going to drop him, toss him over again, or drown him. It became this obsession of OMG I’m an awful mother and will ruin him forever.

  Now, I realize that this was just a start of accidents, mishaps, and the first of many embarrassing moments of my life as a mom. They get better, things get better, and eventually the waterfall dries up from the lack of pumping, but that’s a totally different story to deal with.

  About the Author

  International Bestselling Author, A.M. Willard resides in Savannah, Georgia. She joined the Peach State many years ago after leaving the crystal blue waters and sugary white sand behind from the Panhandle of Florida. She's also known for being a wife, mother, and caretaker for her farm animals. A.M. loves anything sassy, glittery, and is a sucker for the Hallmark Channel. That last one might be the reason she believes in soulmates or it could be because she married her high school sweetheart almost twenty years ago.

  After releasing her first novella series back in 2014, A.M. set out on a new goal to bring her readers a broad range of romantic stories from her desk. This includes Romantic Comedy, Contemporary Romance, and from time to time some Sexy Romance.

  A.M. is an active member of RWA (Romance Writers of America) and has also had an article published in the Writer's Monthly Review Magazine.

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  http://www.twitter.com/amwillardauthor

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  www.amwillard.com

  amwillardauthor@amwillard.com

  Also by A.M. Willard

  Visit http://amwillard.com/books/ for a complete description and where you can purchase all of my titles.

  Also note that most of A.M. Willard’s title are now on audio and the complete list along with samples can be found here; http://amwillard.com/audio/

  The One Night Novella Series:

  One Night Volume 1

  One More Night Volume 2

  Forever Night Volume 3

  One More Christmas a Holiday Edition Volume 4

  The Chances Series ( a Spinoff from the One Night Series)

  Unexpected Chances Volume 1

  Unexpected Changes Volume 2

  A Taste of Love Series: A Romantic Comedy

  Frosted Sweets Volume 1

  Sugary Sweets Volume 2

  Heated Sweets Volume 3

  Spicy Sweets Volume 4 - Coming late 2017

  Business of Sex Series

  Boys, Toys - Oh My! Volume 1

  Boys, Toys - Oh My! Volume 2

  Boys, Toys - Oh My! Volume 3 - Coming Summer 2017

  Standalone Titles:

  Love on the Screen: a Novella

  Hearts in Florence: a Novella

  Fading Memories: a Novel

  Okayest Mom Ever

  Gia Riley

  Copyright © 2017 by Gia Riley

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded, or distributed via the Internet without the publisher’s permission and is in violation of the International copyright law.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  There’s no right or wrong way to do this mom thing. If you’re messing up, you’re doing it right. If your kids tell you they hate you, you’re not a bad mom, you’re a fantastic example.

  When you want to throw in the towel, keep going. Your little human is going to be the very best parts of you. And if you’re lucky, they’ll drop the occasional F-bomb for good measure, just to remind you that you’re one classy lady.

  Chapter 1

  The Arrival

  Kyra

  The road to motherhood began one April evening when I was induced four weeks early. Up until that point, my pregnancy was complicated, so I figured delivery wouldn’t be easy, either.

  After struggling through fertility issues, and having more people in my crotch than a hooker in Vegas, I had no shame. I didn’t even flinch when someone told me to spread my legs.

  As draining as they were, those long days in the fertility clinic gave me an amazing little boy. I mean, how many women can say they got knocked up by a beautiful, African-American woman named Rhonda? See, this is why this story is a little different than most.

  But no matter how much Rhoda tried to talk me through the next stages of pregnancy, and everything that followed a successful intrauterine insemination, I was never prepared for what would come next.

  “Babe, are you ready? We have to get to the hospital,” my husband, Hunter, asks from the doorway.

  Sitting in the middle of the nursery, I hold a fluffy elephant against my chest. Am I ready? No,
I’m not. “I think I changed my mind,” I tell him.

  Hunter joins me on the carpet and sits Indian style across from me. “What are you worried about?”

  I glare at him. How could he ask such a stupid question? “All of it,” I tell him.

  Induction. Nothing about giving birth has ever seemed natural to me. But neither did growing another human inside me, yet it still happened. I trust that’s the way delivery will go, but what if it’s too much for me to handle? What if I can’t do it?

  Hunter takes my hand and kisses the back of it. If I didn’t have a huge belly in the way, I’d climb into his lap and rest my head against his chest. “Why can’t you do it for me?”

  “Because,” he tries to explain. “If men had babies, there’d be four people on this planet.”

  He’s right. My husband passes out from the sight of blood. And needles. A bee sting once had him laid up on the couch for three days. And don’t even get me started on a “man cold.” That’s at least a week of save me’s and help me’s. “You’re probably right.” I agree.

  He stands up and pulls me to my feet. I grab the hospital bag off the rocking chair and take one last look at our peaceful home. It’s like saying goodbye to one stage of our life and welcoming another, and of course it makes me cry.

  I cry so often these days, Hunter doesn’t bat a lash. He just hands me a tissue and helps me into the car where I’m given full control of the radio. But this isn’t one of our drives to the doctor, or the mall. We’re going to the hospital, and I can’t think about anything else. That’s why I let his terrible music play instead.

  Once we’re registered, more strangers come to take a look at my vageen. At this point, it’s like working in a museum and every day someone new comes to check out the display. It’s a lot of pressure for a vagina to live up to, but she’s done me proud.

  But now that the smells of freshly waxed floors and antiseptic are inching their way up my nostrils, I think my entire body is starting to panic. Maybe it’s a fear of hospitals I didn’t realize I had. Or, not understanding the doctor’s accent half the time she speaks. Whatever it is, I'm just so anxious.

  My anxiousness doesn't ease as one April night in the delivery room stretches into three long days.

  I’ve not eaten.

  I’ve thrown up.

  I’ve been poked and prodded.

  And there’s no baby to show for my hard work.

  “Try Pitocin,” they said.

  “It won’t be so bad,” they promised.

  They all lied.

  The progress I wished for suddenly becomes my worst nightmare. With contractions so intense, my uterus is punching me Mike Tyson style. And that lisp of his about knocks me out. “Calm down, Kyra,” Hunter whispers.

  “I quit, Hunt. I can’t do this,” I tell him as tears stream down my face.

  You heard right, I’m a quitter.

  A labor quitter.

  Before Hunter can come up with something to convince me otherwise, I sling my legs over the side of the bed, ready to go home to my nice, warm bed and comfy blankets—none of these thin hospital sheets and hundred degree thermostats.

  Consider this #Momfail#1.

  After I shut down labor, the nurse laughs at me. She actually had the balls to giggle. I’ve worked in the emergency room at this same hospital. I’ve been in rooms with grown men who sobbed about kidney stones, swearing they’d never complain again if the pain would go away.

  I laughed at them, too.

  But like them, I’m not prepared for this.

  “Get back into bed,” Hunter whispers, brushing a piece of hair out of my eye.

  I listen because where else can I go? It’s not like I can call Uber to pull up alongside my bed and get me the hell out of here.

  “Why is it so damn hot in here?”

  My husband tries to spoon some more ice chips into my mouth, but I push them away. “Please put those in an ice pack. I’m sweating.”

  The nurse and Hunter exchange glances, but I don’t think I’m being unreasonable. Maybe about the quitting part, but now that I’ve recommitted to pushing this kid out, I think I’ve earned the right to some ice in a plastic bag. BPA free of course.

  My eyes are closed when the nurse returns, but her Crocs squeak on the floor at just the right moment. I expect my ice, but instead she presses an adhesive ice pack right to my forehead. I kind of love her for it, too.

  Finally, my husband smiles and for the next couple hours, life is tolerable. With my ice and the epidural, I feel like I might be able to do this. Quitting is just a distant memory which we’ll laugh about someday.

  And not long after my third ice pack is replaced, my little boy is born. Holding him in my arms for the first time, he wraps his little hand around my index finger and glances at my ice pack. I think he might be jealous.

  While the rest of my family meets my little guy, the nurse helps me into the bathroom and holds out her hand. “You want me to put those on?” I ask her.

  She holds up the biggest pair of see through granny panties I’ve ever seen. They’re so horrific, they’d mortify Victoria and definitely divulge her Secret. But this is the same nurse who brought me the ice packs, so I trust her.

  #Momfail#2 happens fairly quickly.

  My nurse hands me a new gown and a bag of cooling pads for my stylish panties. It only takes one glance before I make the connection. “Ohmygod,” I whisper. “Please tell me you didn’t let me give birth with a sanitary napkin stuck to my forehead?”

  “You’re not the first,” she says. “The cooling gel serves many purposes.”

  Suddenly, she’s a mix between Yoda and a Girl Scout and while I’d applaud her resourcefulness, all I want to do is cry. I brought a human into the world with a pad stuck to my head.

  Chapter 2

  The Early Months

  Kyra

  Up until this point, my life has been a series of embarrassing moments separated by chocolate cake. Kellen’s three months old and Hunter and I are going out for the first time. To say I’m nervous would be an understatement.

  It’s been so long since I’ve worn anything other than leggings and T-shirts, I almost forgot how I ever zipped up a dress on my own. But when Hunter comes in the bathroom and stands behind me, his hands roam over my butt, I’m thankful I have it on.

  “You don’t have any panties on, do you?” he asks as he stares at me in the mirror.

  “Nope,” I tell him as I put the finishing touches on my makeup.

  “Were you planning to?”

  “Nope.”

  “Is that the only word you can say tonight?”

  Right now, yes. I’m barely holding on because the thought of spending more than fifteen uninterrupted minutes with him has my heart racing so fast, I might pass out.

  “I wasn’t supposed to know yet, was I? Or maybe you wanted me to figure it out?”

  “Yeah,” I whisper, making him laugh. I’ve managed to answer both questions, but Hunter hasn’t seen me squirm like this for months. “I haven’t been feeling very sexy lately. Milk’s coming out of my boobs and I feel like a burger with the lettuce pads on my nipples. It’s a miracle this dress even fits.”

  He kisses the sensitive skin by my ear. “I don’t care if you’re covered in a damn buffet, Kyra. I’ll never stop wanting you.”

  “Thank you for saying that.”

  Hunter turns me around and places a soft kiss on my lips. It’s exactly what I need. But as soon as he pulls my dress up to my waist, there’s a knock on the bedroom door.

  “Kyra, I can’t find the Desitin,” my mom yells through the wall.

  Nothing ruins a moment more than hearing your mother asking for diaper rash cream. Kellen doesn’t even have a rash, she just wants to slather it on him because she can.

  My husband rests his forehead against mine and laughs. “She has terrible timing.”

  “I’ll be right back,” I tell him, pulling down my dress. “Don’t move.”

&n
bsp; While he adjusts his crotch, I run to the nightstand and open the drawer. Without looking, I grab the extra Desitin and run it over to the door. Mom grabs it and I rush back to the bathroom. “All taken care of. Now where were we?”

  I’m just about to unbutton Hunter’s pants when there’s a another knock at the door. “Kyra,” she yells again, this time her voice is a little shaky, and I think she must feel terrible for interrupting again.

  Hunter drops the hem of my dress again and groans. “She’s killing me,” he says. “Go see what she needs. I can’t wait much longer.”

  When I pull the door open, mom’s face is pale. She doesn’t say a word, just holds out her hand and opens her palm. And then I die a thousand deaths. “Hold on,” I whisper.

  I go back to the nightstand, take a better look inside, and grab the tube of Desitin. I faintly hear her mumble something that sounds like a prayer and then after I exchange one tube for the other, the door closes again.

  There’s no way I can go back in the bathroom, so I sit on the edge of the bed and kick off my heels. Hunter’s impatient and a minute or two later, he’s kneeling in front of me, waiting for me to say something. But I can’t.

  “What happened? Is Kellen okay?”

  “He’s fine.”

  I need some air and a drink of cold water. All I have is the bathroom sink, so I leave the bedroom and turn the faucet all the way to the right. Once it’s as cold as I can stand it, I fill up my palm and swallow the water. “We’re staying home.”