“The Pain of loving only hurts when you are left waiting…” -diabanjo
Nature’s gift to the world in my own words – Nine fabulous short stories of a journey that I have embraced from the age of eighteen.
An unwarranted disconnection of an adolescent mother and her unripened baby girl.
I am pregnant, pregnant with love.
Ready to receive the soul God has created for me alone with open arms and a heart ready for something as sweet as Oyin (honey). Thank you for choosing me to be your mummy, with nannies caring eyes, yummy cheeks like daddy and a map of wisdom bestowed upon your forehead in remembrance of your great granny. You are my happiness personified, I can feel it, logic is no longer needed as our emotions have become the bedrock of our enduring relationship. Each movement is a symbolic reference to the innocent night you were conceived, though my faith in you is the size of a mustard seed at week 4, your sole existence is a testament to a world of war in search of something pure and natural.
Angel of peace with a soul so divine, softer than the roses in a cup of red wine.
Sex before marriage is a sin.
I am a sinner for love.
Temptation runneth over, lust consumed my lasting energy and my creator blessed me with a gift so rare, each day of life was a miracle to the Genesis of Adam and Eve. Cupping my bosom I could hear the milk flow as your spirit slowly sailed to shore, albeit I was not prepared for a premature casualty. Dreams opened doors of dialogue between you and I and I was so sure you would touch down on time, even though you had transformed into a fast thrower with a tight hittable squeeze for me to score you a compliment without feeling your growing pains and accept defeat.
“She’s having a miscarriage”.
Unable to comprehend these words with ink spilling eyes like a Parker pen on paper, unreadable to the sanest mind. I could taste the blood of my unborn child, my eardrums are in-tune with the rhythm of her first words unspoken, penetrating my soul with the deepest shade of hate. I desired to feel all, but my hormones have yet again betrayed me on a day that was not predestined to be the end. I could still smell the remains of my sweet baby girl, breath unreleased and beauty unopened to the rest of the world. My heart melting faster than roasted swine in an oven built hell. I was attached to a stillborn, brittle and unable to think for herself.
I am pregnant.
Touching the outer layer of what had been her home for months now felt empty, “who sent you an eviction notice little girl?”. I can tell you were happy with me here even with my pride, stubbornness and unhealthy appetite for boys who loved the way I looked more than what I was born to do.
I knew this was not the true realm for you and I, the triage nurse heavily pregnant with her own had got it wrong.
“Why did you leave?” “No!!!”
Babies are not up for auction, so who bargained for the life of my own?
I wasn’t pregnant.
Filled with a desire to love my daughter during the 21 days of fake labour pain, kidnapped by fear, entangled with the cravings she would request daily.
The whole thing was unfair, I believed the nurse had outgrown her role and struggled to express herself in laymen terms and failed to gather the intricate details needed to understand that I was still bonding with my child, MY CHILD! An epitome of the loving hands that once saved me from a nightmare of being barren, broken and unequipped. Pregnant with faith, hope and spiritual conviction I was so sure my baby was simply acting out a hide and seek joke from a cartoon I once fell asleep to in my first tri—(I would have never messed with her).
Lord knows I want to be pregnant again, I want to feel the glow of your smile, congratulate myself as a woman the first time you open your eyes and hold you away from evil hidden inside my Pandora’s box.
If Mother Nature permitted me, my little princess would have been a small, stylish madam who was seven years well.