My review: This great short, but sweet book will have you in stitches before you finish it!! I enjoyed it throughly!!! Each short chapter has little questions at the end that make it great for short readings at Women’s group meetings or just for your own devotional type reading, with good applications for your daily mom life. We read one at out MOPS group and it skillfully combines humor with thinking about God and thoughts towards God with our busy lives as moms. This is a great one to pick up or slip into a gift basket for a busy mom you know! Just read the first chapter to see what I mean!- Martha
It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old…or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
and the book:
Mom NEEDS Chocolate: Hugs, Humor and Hope for Surviving Motherhood
Regal (April 1, 2009)
***Special thanks to Rebeca Seitz of Glass Road Public Relations, LLC for sending me a review copy.***
Debora M. Coty is the author or contributor to several books, including Mom NEEDS Chocolate: Hugs, Humor and Hope for Surviving Motherhood. A resident of Florida where she lives with her husband, Coty raised two children and enjoyed a dedicated career as an Occupational Therapist before beginning to chase her God-given dream of writing. She is known for communicating sound biblical concepts with a refreshing, light-hearted style. Her writings can be read in her monthly newspaper column, Grace Notes: Gods Grace for Everyday Living.
Visit the author’s website.
List Price: $14.99
Hardcover: 224 pages
Publisher: Regal (April 1, 2009)
AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:
A baby is an inestimable blessing and a bother.
As for you, be fruitful and multiply; populate the earth abundantly and multiply in it.
Genesis 9:7, NASB
There are a few things Ive learned while fulfilling the be fruitful and multiply mandate.
Pregnancy draws you closer to your spouse. During an emergency stop in our driveway while I tossed my cookies in the grass, my husband, Chuck, tried to comfort me. Soon we were throwing up side by side. It was the most romantic thing hes ever done. Those two brown spots on our lawn were the envy of all my friends.
Childbirth classes are invaluable informational sources. At the country hospital wed chosen, one young farmer raised his hand the week after we learned about Braxton Hicks false labor contractions. He earnestly addressed the nurse instructor, Maam, my wifes been miserable all week. Could you tell us again about them Briggs and Stratton things? He was the same strapping fellow who confided the first week, We aint ever had any babies, but weve birthed a lot of cows.
The budding mommas swelling belly and the ledge over her innie-turned-outie navel arent the only evolutions in the bodys profile. Average-sized breasts become huge globes that bump into everything. Its like having volleyballs attached to your chest. These alien chest globes take on their own personalities. I called mine the Bobbing Twins, Freddie and Flopsie. I addressed them directly: Freddie, stop bouncing around or Im going to fall off this bike, or Flopsie, youre gonna have to squeeze into this DDD cupthere is no E.
Finally, youre in your ninth month. Ah, but the surprises are not over. After hours of sweating, teeth grinding and PUSHing, you are rewarded with a tiny screaming miracle. The little bugger has a surprisingly strong sucking reflex, and when he latches on, it feels like a vice grip to this incredibly sensitive part of your anatomy. Youre awfully glad you did that desensitization with the washcloth beforehand. I once commented to Chuck after performing this unpleasant ritual that rubbing myself with terrycloth made me empathize with that old table he was sanding.
Hmmm. Yes, dear, he answered, only half listening. I later overheard him inform his sister on the phone, Debbie uses sandpaper on her chest to get ready for the baby. No wonder his family thinks Im weird.
Shortly after giving birth, my friend Julia (also a nursing mother) and I decided to take a well-deserved tennis break. Leaving the babies with their daddies, we headed for the courts. The blissful quiet was shattered by a wailing infant in a passing stroller, triggering that mysterious internal milk breaker switch. Julia and I simultaneously clutched our chests like gunshot victims at the incoming flood.
Stop it, Freddie! Not now, Flopsie! I pleaded with the Twins as two dark, wet spots appeared in strategic locations on the front of my white tennis shirt. Julia and I mopped ourselves between points with a soggy sweatband, bringing strange new meaning to the term, bosom buddies.1
Son of Man, thank You for the blessing of family and the miracle of babies. Make me more like You because they may end up being like me.
1. Adapted from My Cups Runneth Over by Debora M. Coty, first appearing in Todays Christian Woman, November/December 2004 issue. Used by permission.