Celebrating mothers is only fitting

Today as we celebrate Mother’s Day the journey into motherhood shared by two mothers in 2021 is reprinted.

I was prepared for the morning sickness and food aversions, big feet, swollen fingers, shortness of breath, huge nose and lips, darkened skin across the neck, face and the unimaginable places and of course the stretch marks which many regard as badges of honour. I looked forward to and did enjoy the luscious mane of hair, the rush of ecstasy when the gender was revealed at my ultrasound visit and the flicker of my heart muscles whenever my baby girl moved the least bit, just to a name a few.

But what I didn’t expect, neither could no amount of preparation equip me for, were the episodes of horror occasioned those three times I spotted blood and rushed to the doctor in total panic, and the nightmare that became my maternity reality afterwards. I wasn’t ready to hear that my water bag was leaking prematurely at just 25 weeks with the possibility of an early birth of my baby girl.

I could not handle the complications that came with it, including having those joyous ultrasound moments turned into instants of anxiety and inspection to see if my water level was up or down or had been maintained. I was not prepared to see and be told by the doctor that the umbilical cord was wrapped around her neck not once but twice. I never imagined I’d hear my baby was still in breech and possibly won’t be able to turn; that I won’t be able to experience her free, constant movements because there isn’t enough water to facilitate that.

I was not prepared to have to spend my remaining four months of pregnancy on strict bed rest to fix this unforeseeable and uncertain crisis, away from friends and most importantly work. Daily, I was left with nothing to do but pine away in fear and anxiety after countless searches on Google led me to believe my baby may not make it. I felt both hopeless and helpless, having to depend on my husband, mom and siblings to serve me in bed and even clean my skin! I lived each day being afraid to even breathe and even blaming myself and questioning why this was happening to me. I was ashamed to tell anyone but family and a few close friends. I thought no one would understand. Thankfully, with loads of prayers and a very experienced and optimistic doctor, my baby managed to make it to 37 weeks. But due to the complications I explained, I had to schedule a C-section. This too, I did not expect or desire for that matter.

At 10 am that Saturday, surrounded by family, for the first time my baby girl was in my arms, which trembled as if they did not feel worthy of her newness and innocence or of being in her presence. She was divine! I said to myself, “Well if this is what it feels like to meet a tiny human being who’s been living inside you for 9 months then I can’t wait to experience the coming of Christ after centuries!” Then the memories of the past few terrifying and traumatic months that culminated in this unforgettable moment wracked my body to joyful tears so suddenly and a huge ball of excitement and happiness got stuck in my throat and I was at loss for words. I could say nothing more than, “I made this. Look, babe, we made this.” My heart and my stomach were doing the tango! Finally, I could breathe a sigh of relief. It was all worth it.

The post-Caesarean journey is indeed a familiar struggle to many that still has me in its clutches. After about three months of giving birth I was finally brave enough to touch the still healing scar and look at it in the mirror. I then realized that I had two options: let the scar trap me in a prison of cowardice, pain and trauma, or embrace it and let it strengthen me along my new journey as a young mother by letting it serve as a reminder of what I overcame both physically and mentally and what I can overcome in the future. I chose the latter. Today I am reminded that women are superheroes, and their bodies are marvels to be cherished, recognized and duly praised and respected!

The second mother

Today as I celebrate my second Mother’s Day, I reminisce on the journey of welcoming her into the world — the little girl who calls me mommy

Prior to becoming pregnant I expected the worst, given the constant cry by various mothers of morning sickness, the weight gain, and overall the pain of becoming a mother. I experienced the exact opposite. When my husband and I found out that we were expecting our first born I was surprised because I had no symptoms. I expected to vomit and to feel ill, but it never came. Aside from minor back pain I had quite a smooth pregnancy and even worked right up until the week I was expected to deliver.

Given how smooth my pregnancy generally was, I expected the birthing process to be the same, but I was sadly mistaken. On October 16, 2019 I began experiencing contractions, but I didn’t take them seriously until they became a little more intense during the night. Still I didn’t think it warranted a trip to the hospital just yet because I was expecting “a pain I’ve never felt before” as was described by my doctor. It wasn’t until my mucus plug was ejected that my husband decided that it was time for me to go to the hospital. At the hospital, the contractions moved from an hour apart to half hour.

I was checked by the midwife and was 2cm dilated and advised that by the next morning I should be able to deliver. I was all set and had prepared myself mentally to take the pain and I was doing pretty well with that until the next day when I found out that my dilation remained at 2cm. I was confused but was assured that all would be well.

Later that morning, another check was made, and my dilation remained the same. It was then that I was placed on the drips. My contractions came faster, and the pain was much more than I had bargained for. With every contraction my leg seized, and my back began to burn as though someone was dragging a hot coal across it. I was going out of my mind. As if that wasn’t enough, while checking the baby’s vitals the doctors were hearing two heartbeats which had the midwife and the doctors confused. Their confusion didn’t stop there, even on the drips I was still only 2cm dilated but my contractions were extremely close and beyond painful.

I was past my breaking point, frustrated, angry and fed up with contractions without a baby. I became so frantic that the doctor, midwife, my mother, motherin-law and husband made attempts to calm me but to no avail. I wept with heightened frustration and my breathing became quite heavy. It was then that a sudden decision was made to have me undergo a cesarean section for both me and my child’s safety.

My system was flushed of the drips and arrangements were immediately made to have the procedure done. I was wheeled into the theatre, calmer but nervous and at 4.30 pm I heard the cry of my baby girl. The hours that followed I spent recovering, unable to hold my little one until early the next morning. It was then that I had to fight through the pain from the incision, and breastfeeding. I had to build my mind to walk again because the incision was fresh. But as though that wasn’t enough there was still the issue of that second heartbeat. In pain I was subjected to have