When I was younger, I aggressively pursued my career … believing that the things I did (and the money I brought home) would make a significant difference to the world and my family.
My children up until this day, still have difficulty understanding what I did as an accountant. They’re not even interested.
It is not from the lack of explanations, trust me.
Yet, from the moment I decided to start writing, they have taken an active interest in my creative thought process from wanting to understand the story, giving their opinions on my book covers to actively proclaiming to the whole wide world their mom is an author (and no, I’ve never let them read my books. They need to grow up first!)
I never got that kind of enthusiasm when I was working as an accountant.
And now, my eldest has overcome her fear of writing and decided she likes to come up with stories too. She wrote one for her teachers as a Christmas present. My youngest sits in my lap and asks me to read what I wrote for her that day. She questions the main idea of the story and actually makes an awesome editor (surprisingly for a seven year old – Maybe she sees things so much clearer than this jaded old soul).
Definitely not what I was expecting when I first embarked on my writing adventure. So now, I have to write something for them too …
Who knows what lies beyond the horizon … but at least we’re doing it together ❤
My child asked me today, “Why do you write, mommy?”
It’s been ten years since she was born and yet, I remember it almost as if it happened yesterday.
Would I have done some things differently? Probably.
Would I have changed a single thing about her? No, because I love her exactly the way she is.
“I write for you, my child. There are so many things I have learnt which I want to share with you and yet, I know now is not the time but I fear, tomorrow we may never find the right moment. One day, you will read what I have written and understand the journey that brought us here. Hopefully, you will take these learnings to make your life even better once you yourself become a woman.
Most mothers bring their bundle of joy into the world with the expectation of being able to breastfeed their infant and indeed, many succeed after delivery. Approximately 76.5% of women in the United States successfully breastfeed their child at birth. However, some are unable to continue as time goes by. The rate drops to 49% at 6 months. According to a survey by the Department of Health and Human Services, only 16.4% of new mothers are exclusively breastfeeding at 6 months.
In honor of the 2013 World Breastfeeding Week, download a complimentary copy of “Crazy For Milk” here and take a peek at the non-textbook realities of motherhood.
“I am a single mom and I’m the breadwinner and I have to work and I have to do these things and that’s just the way it is – Charisma Carpenter”
According to a recent Pew Research Center analysis, working moms are the sole or primary provider in four-in-ten households with children, as compared to one-in-ten (11%) back in 1960. Not all are breadwinners by choice. 63% of these women are single mothers who earn a median income of $23,000, less than a third of the $80,000 median total family income of married mothers who earn more than their husbands. With adequate resources and someone to take care of the family, it can work out for the single mother but what if she doesn’t have them? Who pays the price when she has to work?…Read more
Having just delivered a baby, faced with engorgement as her breasts overflow with milk, where does a woman turn to for help? The one closest to her, the one whom she believes can save her, the one whom she puts all her faith into finding a solution for her .. her hero, her saviour, her husband.
Breastfeeding is never easy for a new mother and when her body becomes a stranger to her in the middle of the night, behaving in ways unfamiliar to her, giving her pain beyond anything she ever imagined before, she turns to the love of her life for help.
But often … can love be enough when the solution is not what she expects? Desperate times call for desperate measures … but is she desperate enough? She wants to be saved, but when his actions take her beyond her comfort zone, pushing her into the realm of the unknown … is it enough for the ends to justify the means?
As a man, he wants to be her hero, her knight in shinning armour ~ the one who keeps her safe … but how can he protect her from herself? How can he stop her from turning on him when the solution he presents to her is something she isn’t ready to accept?
And yet despite everything, she still wants her hero to save her.
At first, it looked like ordinary lingerie, just with a little more frills when I opened up the red-ribbon-tied, white gift box and pulled aside the shiny, cream coloured tissue paper. It was only when I tried to unravel the mystery of how the different bits and pieces of satin, lace and thin garter straps fit together that I came to a slow, panicked realization of how it was meant to be worn.
Blushing an equally deep red to match the satin, I held the tiny piece of material up to the bright florescent lamp on the stark white ceiling. With barely enough fabric to block out the light, it was salaciously sexy and the most provocative outfit I had ever seen.
Talk about putting icing on the cake, I winced, the blood rushing to my cheeks. Someone, please save me! He can’t seriously expect me to wear this. The most exotic thing I have so far is the sheer lace babydoll he gave me for New Year’s.
“Go ahead, put it on,” he said, as he put his legs up on the corner of his cluttered, dark brown office desk, leaned back in his high-backed, black chair and lit his Benson & Hedges cigarette, savouring the sight of my blush.
The front of the panty was made of exquisite, intricately designed lace, that left nothing to the imagination as it changed midway to a wine red satin thong, that fit snugly between my butt cheeks, hiding nothing of me from behind. The lace was secured to my hips by a satin belt that made an upside down “T” as it rose upwards in a slim faux diamond strip, where it met my neck, in the form of a delicate, black, one-inch wide lace choker, leaving the two soft, pale mounds of flesh bared and inviting.
I stood there, waiting, goosebumps chasing themselves up and down my skin but I couldn’t blame it on the cold even though it was the middle of January. The heating was on and it was warm inside his small office. Overly exposed, that’s how I feel. Shivers ran through my body every time the cold, metal clips hanging from the end of the garter straps grazed my skin.
“There is a pair of matching black silk stockings as well. Why don’t you put those on?” he suggested, drawing another puff from his cigarette and exhaling slowly.
With barely any room to maneuver in that tiny grey box of a room he called an office, I gingerly pulled the stockings out and turned to the chair on my right, lifting up my left leg and perching my foot there, so I could carefully roll the stocking up.
It was unnerving the way his eyes traced the side profile of my twenty-eight year old body — the fall of my long, wavy brown hair past the crook of my neck; the curve of my slender, bare shoulder which led down the snowy white skin of my lightly toned arm until it met my bare hand, resting on my hip; and the smooth roundness of my tight ass.
“Very nice, Ophelia, very nice indeed,” he remarked once I had finished putting the stockings on and spun around to strike a pose for him, stifling a hysterical laugh as I looked self-consciously at myself.
I look ridiculous! I thought to myself uncomfortably, as I rolled my eyes, an awkward imitation of one of those lingerie models I used to see in magazines. This is so not me.
“Don’t do that, Ophelia. You look amazing dressed like that. I am so happy you wore it for me,” he smiled slyly as he cleared the surface in front of him. “Now, come lie down on the desk in front of me. It is time for dessert and if it is as delicious as I fully expect it to be, we can invite some guests.”
My heart rate jumped as I sucked in a startled breath. Oh, shit! What have I gotten myself into?
READ the first Bedroom Secrets novel, Crazy for Milk, now available on AMAZON! Click HERE to get your own copy!
I was drowning in milk. Breast milk, to be exact. It was hard enough trying to be a good mother and wife while learning to breastfeed for the first time. Now, I had to deal with a husband who wanted sex! With me. In this condition.
It is indecent. Scandalous even, this behavior he expects from me. What if someone finds out? What will they think of me?
He won’t like it if I keep turning him down but what if I give in … and I grow to like it?
Sneak a peek into how this new mother feels:
“Nursing Emma on the rocking chair, my frustration grew as I realized that he was punishing me for rejecting him, for not submitting to his demands and for insisting on doing things my way. I hated it when he tried to dictate how I should live my life and yet, it was this same strength in him — the ability to make decisions, to lead — that drew me to him in the first place. I wanted him to respect my right to make decisions for this family too but somehow or another, I had ended up pushing him further away.”
Catch a preview for yourself in the Free Book Previews section
Kathryn Michaels 