Author’s Note
Author’s Note
& Content Warnings
O
nly
five
days
after
my first child was born, I posted the following caption on Instagram…
“The only thing I have ever thought I couldn’t do with one hand was be a good mom. It might not be rational, but every time I heard some cliché comment about moms needing an ‘extra set of hands,’ it would make my stomach churn. Growing up, there were often times when adults wouldn’t let me hold their babies out of fear, and at some point, I took that to heart. I have held on to this insecurity, and I didn’t really address it until this week. Now, I’d like to say that ten fingers are overrated, because this kid and I have got a good thing going on so far.”
I had been a mother for less than a week, and yet I felt as if I’d experienced every possible human emotion under the sun. I was physically and mentally recovering from a traumatic labour experience and difficult pregnancy. My nipples hurt, my body ached, and I was
convinced
my vagina would
never
be the same. And yet… I was
so, so
ridiculously happy.
Not just because of the tiny baby we’d brought home (who’s pretty great), but because I was wrong to be afraid
.
Because
they
were wrong. I was absolutely capable of being a good mother.
I, like Win, was born with my limb difference. I have a less-developed right hand that is identical to Win’s as described in this book. And while I’ve tried my best throughout my life to not let it hold me back, it has certainly created challenges. I’ve always found myself attempting to perform things in private that I’ll be expected to do in public. Things as small as buttoning a new pair of pants or typing to take notes in class. I’ve spent hours upon hours thinking through daily obstacles, coming up with small adjustments, and planning out my days in agonising detail in order to avoid any awkwardness or failure. Then, I found out I was pregnant, and suddenly I felt totally and completely unprepared. I knew that nothing could prepare me for what came next, and I was terrified…
I wanted to write a book for anyone who’s let fear of failure slow them down. Not just for those of us who choose to have kids, or those of us who are disabled, but for anyone who’s been thrust into something new that took them so far out of their comfort zone they no longer recognised their past, afraid self. I wanted to write something about two people who love each other so
much that they’re able to change the negative thought patterns they’ve held on to and embrace their differences fully. Where love is shown to be validating, kind, considerate, joyful, patient, and gentle.
In this book, Win goes on a journey to motherhood via pregnancy. Because her pregnancy is entirely unexpected, I chose to include conversations between Win, her medical team, and her support system about the option of abortion. It’s worth noting that this book is set in Canada, where rights to abortion are not currently under threat as they are elsewhere, and therefore, her options are less limited. Ultimately, Win chooses to keep her baby, but it felt necessary to include those discussions, given that the fundamental right to access safe, legal abortions is being challenged near constantly. Win’s choice is not superior, nor is she pressured into it. Win’s choice is just that.
Her choice.
To end this note, I just want to say that I know that pregnancy in romance novels is a hot topic. It’s not for everyone, and that’s perfectly okay. But this book is a lot more than a one-night stand turned baby. It’s about learning to let someone see the messy, needier parts of you. It’s learning to be loved well as you are and accept help. It’s about challenging expectations and overcoming obstacles. It’s
disabled joy
. Which we all need to see more of, if you ask me.
I hope you love Bo and Win as much as I do.
All my love,
Hannah Bonam-Young
Content Warnings: Graphic sexual content, pregnancy and symptoms of pregnancy, brief discussion of abortion (pro-choice stance, not performed), ableism in reference to a limb difference, verbally abusive ex-partner (no reappearance), death of a parent (past, off page) depression and suicide (past, off page), cancer (past, not reoccurring), amputation (past, off page).