Every time I want to post the photos of Angy (my two-year-old daughter) and declare myself the best mother in the world with the most beautiful and awesome daughter, I am reminded of Psalm 139:13-16 and keep my cool, for I know she is not mine.
“For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well. My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them.”
The journey to motherhood was always scary and out of this world for me. I could never comprehend the possibility of carrying life inside me. In my womb. I was always scared of the talk. I remember the many times I could walk out on my peers when pregnancy and delivery topics cropped up in our conversations. But I loved the idea of being a mother, as much as I hated and was scared of the journey into it.
Flashback. July 2015.
Three days in a row I had an interesting, great but scary dream. I could see myself holding hands with a young handsome boy in his mid-20 months. He was so charming. So good. So jovial. So talkative. I loved him, so much. He was the center of my life. My all. His name was Adrian, yes, Adrian. More than once I called out on him. Probably to come and eat, change his already soaked up clothes and at times play with mommy. It was so satisfying a feeling. The kind of dream you never want to wake up from.
I never gave this dream much thought until a month later when I was doing my final semester postgraduate exams. My tummy had started growing despite the many meals I could skip to focus and read for my exams. Being the last minute type. I still didn’t bother. I even remember getting myself a number of sanitary towels when I went shopping that month, and someone, so close, making a joke. “Why are you getting pads and you’re pregnant?”
I gave him that, what is wrong with you look and laughed it off. How wrong!
On a random day, a Monday morning, I decide to check on a doctor to confirm the fears. All along I knew this was just mere speculation. Go for urinary test, positive. I am sent to do an ultrasound. 7 weeks 3 days pregnant. How naive of me! Poor first time mother!
My mind wanders. I google. I ask everyone I came across. What happened to the signs of pregnancy, the morning sickness, food cravings and change in taste, tiredness, tingling and swollen breasts, name them. None of these did I experience. But beyond doubts, a life was growing inside me!
The following 7 months were full of drama, so many lessons to be learnt. I even came to learn that the pregnancy period is actually 10 months (40 weeks) and I don’t know who lied to the world that it’s 9 months. The prenatal and antenatal clinic. I even realized that I had to turn into a small doctor.
14 March, 2016. 9:37 PM. I held baby Angy, supposed Adrianna (I changed her name an hour to delivery. Story for another day), in my arms. Though for a very short time, before she was taken away to be examined by a pediatrician and get oriented to the world outside here. She was so beautiful. The most beautiful thing I had ever held in my arms. I cried. Tears of joy. She was 4.7Kgs. With dark, curly hair. She was too good to be mine. I fell in love with her.
I spent the next 7 months working for her. Serving her. I didn’t want anybody to help me. I always wanted to do it myself. I abandoned all that mattered before her. I monitored her growth. I loved her so much. Holding unto her all the time.
“Mummy niachilie. Usibebe mimi”. I have been thinking about these words that Angy said to me about two months ago. Had got home from work, she ran down the stairs to welcome mummy (as her norm), I lifted her and wanted to go up carrying her. To my surprise, she wanted to get what was in my bag (for her), and walk up on her own. I was hurt. I still wanted to carry her but she couldn’t let me. Then I knew her time had come, her time to be whom she is destined to.
At 2 years 3 months, she is full of surprises. Behaves so mature, and wants her space. She does so much for herself. Feeds alone. Decides what she will eat, when and where. Tells when to take a bath and what to put on. Makes lots of demands. I no longer do things and make decisions for her.
Watching her grow has been the best time of my life. And I feel she is at her peak. We communicate, so much. She has shaped my thinking ad way of life. My world revolves around her. I live for her. I have so much fierce love for her.
But more than ever I feel so much prepared me for the day I will have to release her. For our good Lord has prepared a life for her. She has a journey that she will need to complete, away from me. I draw comfort in the fact that I had the opportunity to show her love, serve her, guide her and most importantly make the most critical decisions in her life for her.
Oh my sweet baby. You removed shame from my shoulders and gave me confidence to talk before men. The strength to keep moving and the will to see yet another day. And when the time comes, I will confidently release you to pursue your Father’s purpose for your life, for I know in His arms you will be safe, forever.
“All your children will be taught by the Lord, and great will be their peace.” Isaiah 54:13.