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I was talking to my friend the other day about my son’s birth, and as I told her about it, I paused and said, “Oh, wow, I’d forgotten that! That was horrific!”

Childbirth IS horrific. Or it was in my case. Painful. Frightening. Traumatic. It’s been seven years since the event, and I’m still traumatized! When someone has a baby, I’m the one saying, “She’s a new mother—for the love of Pete, let her sit down!” Emotionally, I respond to childbirth like a traffic accident.

In fiction, however, we can explore the more romantic side of childbirth and babies—the cleaned up, sweet moments. And that does have an allure for me… I see women who have babies in non-dramatic ways, who give birth and have their babies placed in their arms, who are home again with their newest family member after twenty-four hours, and I feel a teeny bit jealous of that.

And right now, I have a hankering for teeny tiny infants… times three! I might not be able to do it again myself, but I can certainly write about it. πŸ™‚ So the next book I’m plotting involves newborn triplets… and a cowboy. Stay tuned!

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