I COUNT IT ALL JOY

I toddled down, hurrying off to the sweet aroma from the boiling pot in the kitchen, for a second I felt a sweet breeze, the next minute I was at the bottom of the stairs.

An excruciating pain hit me, all I could hear was a gentle hum, a child’s laughter and then the sun rays caressed my skin.

I was lying on the floor, face down. Something protruded from my enlarged belly. I could feel something sharp- a bone, I think it was his foot. I was close to term with my most precious bundle of joy and I had fallen off a flight of stairs. It was over a dozen, cold hard tiles.

Maybe my head knew it had to numb the pain, I couldn’t feel it. Nothing must happen to this baby. I took the longest time to crawl back upstairs, took some paracetamol and rocked myself to sleep. This was my secret! How could I be so careless, walk recklessly and risk the baby’s life?

The journey had begun the joys of motherhood. I live in a country where it is believed that if a child turns out well, it’s the job of the father but if they turn out wayward it’s the handiwork of the mother. Mamas are relied upon to do everything for the child, most men shy away from parenting till the latter stages. Recently I have discovered that most of these men are just scared, of these tiny angels called babies. Have you ever seen a newborn baby? How delicately shaped they are and you might be surprised by scientific facts that prove them to be actually very sturdy. Babies are resilient and adapt to their environment quickly.

On the day my rainbow baby was born, I was expectant. March 19^th had been my due date; it was a miracle that I could deliver him on my expected date, it was a normal delivery as opposed to doctor’s/ specialist opinions. My frame was too small; my cervix wouldn’t dilate to accommodate his well- rounded head. The word proved them wrong. I had just started practicing affirming my desires and manifesting them. ‘The midwives answered Pharaoh, “Hebrew women are not like Egyptian women; they are vigorous and give birth before the midwives arrive’

I turned to see 4am on my phone I had felt a gentle tap on my back. I turned to see my husband, fast asleep. I slept off again once more I was stirred by a presence. I could hear distinctly, it is time. I chuckled. It was the day! Then I started puking, every ounce of food left my tummy. Like the months before, I retched.

When we arrived at the Hospital, 8am, the midwives saw me well dressed. I had on my favourite lip colour and sat down to send emails. The birth attendant, left for home. She said ‘She is still in the early stages of labour’ no wonder she has the energy to do work.

As the labour progressed, the midwives and nurses discussed morbid stories of still births and the like. My husband was a nervous wreck. In fact He asked the chatter-box nurses to leave.  One would think He was in labour himself. He paced the room frantically, asked for more painkillers to be administered. I don’t want her to feel anything. His eyes told me, it was going to be okay. My Mama asked me to scream, she said let it out Ariana. There is no need to be brave; I bit my lip silently, waiting for the pain to get stronger.

My Doctor, God bless Him was a God sent, we had gone through the process a dozen times, when it was close we did quick breathing. Push- Push- push! Three times only (I will sue any movie director that does it any differently-lol.)

At 2.30 pm, hot scorching March sun, my bouncing baby boy arrived in style. My final push was strong and the doctor had to stretch and play catch. I could see his penis dangling like a tiny wand, I was disappointed. I was confident that the baby was going to be a girl! That feeling lasted but for a few moments, until he was placed on my chest. I could feel his warmth, the silk smooth body, his heartbeat. I knew the best part of my life had just begun. For a second, I thought his eyes winked or was it a smile?

We called Him Oluwapelumi- in Yoruba it means ‘God is with me’. I called him Joshua- a Hebrew name- ‘Yaweh is Salvation’ and of course he had to have the name Gabriel – ‘God is my strength’.

Every week we received a new name from family members around the world this was the tradition for the first born Yoruba child.

Today He turns seven (7) but that’s for another tale. God’s name is to be praised!

What was your pregnancy/ birthing experience like?  Care to share on here? Would you do it again? Did you struggle to pick out a name?