FORTY-TWO-WEEKS & FOREVER

Every mother has a story, every story has a beginning. This is forty-two weeks in the making-and a lifetime in the living.

When I first saw you, it wasn’t a wow moment. It wasn’t like in the movies where the doctor

hands over the baby and exclaims, “Congratulations, you have a beautiful, bouncing baby boy!”

That cinematic image was far from my reality. I didn’t get to hold you right away, to welcome you into the world. My heart was simply grateful

because you were alive.

You stayed in my womb longer than expected. In my mind, I imagine you got bored, poked the

amniotic sac out of curiosity, and when it burst, you were suddenly swimming in more liquid

than before. Maybe that scared you. I picture you fighting to stay alive, tasting something

unfamiliar, and finally sending a desperate signal to me, the woman that you had come to know

for nine months. That’s when I started to bleed.

It was a Wednesday in January 2023, just an ordinary day. As the weeks had passed, my hope

grew that this would finally be the day I’d go into labor. After forty-two weeks—despite being

told, 'boys stay longer'- we also knew it could become dangerous beyond this point. So, your grandma and I boarded a matatu and went to the hospital for a checkup.

While waiting for a scan, I started spotting and calmly told your grandmother what was

happening. Even in danger, I tend to process things slowly. Grandma panicked, found a

wheelchair, and insisted I sit. I refused, saying, “I’m fine, I can walk!” If I hadn’t been heavily

pregnant, she might have slapped some sense into me. We half-walked, half-jogged to the ward. I

wondered if it was dramatic to arrive in a wheelchair only to be told it was normal. Somehow,

my mind wandered even then.

At the nurse’s office, a pregnant woman told me confidently, “That’s normal.” But I insisted, and

they reluctantly sent me to the labor ward. At the door, a receptionist, yes, a receptionist, asked

where I was going,” Unaenda wapi?’. “Umekuja kufanya? She asked again, with an attitude

meant to ruin your day- at that moment, I wished I had a quick tongue. Honestly, why is there a

receptionist in the labor ward? Shouldn’t that be a nurse? She seemed angry at someone or

something, maybe her boyfriend, and was now taking it out on us poor pregnant women.

Anyway, I got admitted. They placed me in a curtained cubicle for privacy, though really, it was

just an illusion. Then the doctor came in with a trainee. After examining me, he called upstairs to

approve an emergency C-section. He said it was critical and that I had to be operated on

immediately. That’s when it truly hit me how serious things were, and everything moved faster

than I could have imagined.

Within 30 minutes, I was prepped for surgery, but labor began anyway. The pain was

indescribable—if I ever claim worse, call me a liar. In that moment, if I would met Eve, I would have

dragged her to a dark, empty prison. Yet, without her, there would be no me, no you, no love like this.

I would do it all again.

Lying in that curtained cubicle, devastated that I wouldn’t have a natural birth, I let go of my

dream and begged for anesthetics. In the operating theater, the doctor told me I was lucky: “If

your baby had stayed five more minutes, he wouldn’t have made it.” In that moment, I realized

how quickly things shifted from waiting for labor to an emergency.

Your skin looked wrinkled, like that of an old man. Sometimes even now, you behave like

someone who has lived this life before. I begged the baby nurse to let me see you before they

took you to the care unit. The nurse said, “Huyu hawezi ibiwa,” in a tone that felt sarcastic, as if

to say, ‘Who would steal such an unattractive child?’

That week in the hospital was the longest of my life. I felt trapped, exhausted, but fiercely

protective. Despite tubes and needles, you were full of energy. Grandma laughed and said, “Ata

hakai kama ako na shida, ni mateke tu anarusha.” (He doesn’t even look sick; he’s just kicking

his legs.)

When we got home, you gave me sleepless nights, but I didn’t mind. You woke with eyes so

bright, as if you’d had the best night, while mine were red with exhaustion, but I still smiled.

Each week, I saw your glow growing; you were becoming such a cute boy and your smile—oh,

your smile—could turn my worst day to light. I hope that even on your hardest days, you’ll find

something to smile about. As you continue to grow, facing life’s challenges, let your smile be

your strength.

Your grandma likes to say, “Ulinipanga.” It’s one of those sayings that can’t be translated

without a story, but it means you brought immense beauty and purpose into my life.

If there’s one person who has taught me true selflessness, it’s you. You are my heart outside my

body.

I can already see how intelligent you are, sharp, quick, and curious. I often wish I could hear

your thoughts, but I’ll be patient. I’ll be right beside you when you say your first word, take your

first step, and discover your passions.

I’ll play ball with you, cheer you on during school games, and make sure you have both a good

education and a good heart. And be the man you were meant to be.

My son, remember this: self-growth is important.

You cannot love others fully until you love yourself first.

Be independent, but never forget that your family will always have your back.

I promise to be the best mother I can be. To guide you, love you wholeheartedly, feed you, and

yes, sometimes scold you. You might hate me for it, but one day you’ll understand that every

decision, every discipline was out of love.

When you’re grown, I hope we’ll be friends. But for now, let me just be your mum, to cherish

you, protect you, and love you beyond measure.

With all my heart,

Mum

A mother can only pray and do her best to raise her child. The forty two- weeks may come to an end, but a mother's love, lessons, and hopes last forever. What's one lesson motherhood has taught you ? And if you are the child, what gems has your mother instilled in you ? Share your thoughts in the comments, and don't forget to like and subscribe.