Let’s face it: I’m not a mom. I don’t have children. Yes, I have dogs, but I have no idea how to be an actual mother. I don’t know what it’s like to be pregnant or give birth. I respect women who are moms, but I could never do it. I’d be a horrible parent, because I would realistically have to say things like, “What do you mean, I can’t tase my kid?”
And yet, I did write a story about a lonely mom who’s just given birth to her first baby and happens to develop an obsessive crush on her UPS man.
“I Need Your Package” is fun, sort of silly, and sexy … but the first draft was wrong. As I said, I don’t know what a woman’s body feels like post-pregnancy. I needed experts.
I owe so much to my first readers all the time but for this story in particular. I had a couple real life moms who read “I Need Your Package,” told me everything that was wrong with it, and told me how to fix it. I won’t name you gals here because you might not wanna be associated with my smutty self, but you know who you are, and I ADORE YOU. You are the super heroes. You’re selfless and loving and much stronger than I will ever be.
Excerpt from “I Need Your Package”
By Sara Dobie Bauer
Featured in If Mom’s Happy (Cwtch Press)
Hannah once saw her deliveryman carry a big screen television under one arm. Another time, it was a dining room table from IKEA. You’d never guess, looking at the guy. He was tall and slim but not bulging. His long appendages probably helped, as did his sense of balance. He could stand on one foot like a yogi in tree pose—big box leaned on top of his thigh, scanner in the other. Like a ballet dancer, he jumped off porches and back into his big, brown truck. Hannah could hear that truck coming from three blocks away.
Dayton usually stopped at Hannah’s house around 11 AM. At 10:30, she successfully coaxed the baby into a nap. She made sure her blonde hair was in a respectable ponytail. Changing out of her robe, she put on a sweater that flared at the waist and jeans that didn’t look too “Mommy.”
If only she were so in tune with her own child.
Baby Neely had been mostly her husband’s idea. They’d discussed having children early in their marriage, but their careers got in the way. Hannah reviewed books for a mainstream women’s website; her husband worked early hours, often on the road. Then, at the age of thirty-six, it just sort of happened. Neely happened.
Hannah heard the rumble of Dayton’s truck and felt the way the sound vibrated in her chest. She scampered to the door and pulled it open, its old hinges squeaking just enough to wake Neely, who started wailing upstairs.
“Shit,” she whispered but pasted on a smile when Dayton jumped gracefully onto her porch with three separate yellow envelopes under his arm.
“Good morning, Hannah.” He winked one of his hazel eyes.
“Morning.” She gawked up at him and hoped her irises weren’t in the shape of hearts.
The scanner beeped as he ran it over the label of each individually wrapped book from publishers who desperately wanted her opinion. “Did you want me to f*** you on the porch next time?”
Her hand flew to her chest. “I’m sorry?”
“Did you want me to leave these on the porch next time? I don’t want to wake the baby.” The late autumn sun reflected off his short, auburn hair. His presence mimicked the fallen leaves in her front yard: those green-gold eyes, hair almost red, and slim fitting brown uniform.
“No, it’s fine. She just needs to be fed.”
Did he glance down at her chest? Hannah had the urge to grab the back of his head and shove his face against her breasts. Then again, how sexy was a padded nursing bra?
“Well.” He handed her the packages. “See you later.” His smile was crooked and went up much higher on the right than left.
Hannah watched him go. Well, she watched his ass go until he hopped into the front seat of his truck and turned the ignition …
To read the rest (and learn more about Dayton … meow), buy your copy of If Mom’s Happy today and celebrate Mother’s Day with some sexy stories. Click HERE to purchase, and much love to all the hard-working moms out there!