The Joy experienced at the confirmation of your existence, although nothing seemed malapropos, nothing remained the same. Oh! What an overwhelming Joy. I marveled at the news. It was magical and could only be understood through experience.
The first few weeks were excruciatingly uncomfortable but welcomed with delight as the HCG levels increased and the various associated symptoms trailed. Visualizing holding you in my arms paled my discomfort by comparison, comforted by the saying that “Dire price prequels a dear prize.”
Weeks turned into months, and soon, the slight flutter of the limbs, the infinitesimal movements – “The quickening.” My first emotion was pride in how well you fought to achieve this first feat. Then, the Joy and peace over the anxiety of losing you in the first few months before I even got the opportunity to meet you through a sonogram.
Followed were the not-so-vague gestures – kicks, jabs, rolls, and even the somersaults were amusing and enthralling, and the most surprising was the hiccups; I remembered being scared the first time I felt your hiccups. And I drank tons of water to relieve you from its disturbance; sometimes it worked, but often you wether it out like a champ, of course, then I knew you were a force.
I did well to savor every bit of those experiences and noted them so I could recount them to you someday when you grow up.
Although it was a trying time for me financially, I worked hard to ensure you are well provided with the comfort you deserve. I worked in the rain and sun so my baby could have a good life.
And when you finally made your princely entry, It was on a Monday morning. I was joking about how you chose the first working day of the week; you must be one serious-minded boy; like I said- A force – smiles. All was in place to introduce you to the world. The labor was excruciating, but I was ready to endure anything just to get to see your beautiful eyes looking straight at your mama in all purity and innocence. Almost seven (7) hours of labor were borne with high hopes of finally meeting you, but my strength failed me, probably due to the stress I underwent in those nine months, not eating well enough so I could provide you with a comfortable nest.
I still couldn’t fathom why the Doctor didn’t perform a Cesira section. Maybe I faulted the country’s weak health system. I was becoming unconscious, and you were probably too tired to wriggle your way out, but finally, you were pulled out with forceps.
How I was relieved!
I didn’t know what to expect, but I knew enough not to expect dead silence from you. From the movies, newborns always let out healthy wails, a sign of a healthy baby. But your cries never came. I became frantic, even in my weak state, asking the Doctor why you were not crying as expected. But he ignored me in my helpless state, another flaw of a crumbling health system, and rushed you out of the room hastily, trying all he could to save your life. I was practically ignored on the delivery bed; I did not mind one bit, in as much as you would be given to me alive. I was later to know you were taken to the neonatal ICU.
I Lifted my eyes upwards to say a heartfelt prayer like I never did in my whole life. I told God to keep you, but if he didn’t, I would still acknowledge Him as the author of life.
Soon, I was cleaned up, and the Doctor walked in. I feared for what his next utterance would be but waited in anxiety. Then he said- “Your baby is alive, but he is in a critical state.”
The Joy I felt was unquantifiable as I prayed in thanksgiving for the ray of hope. The Doctor told me to be ready for the long haul and that I might have to stay months in the hospital as you were suffering from severe asphyxia.
I immediately became courageous emotionally and physically. I was determined to carry you out alive and healthy from the hospital. I was wheeled to the recovery ward. I cried when I saw other mothers with their bundles of Joy in their bassinets beside them. But I held on to the hope that you are alive. I did not hear your cries for hours, but when I did, I knew that was my baby crying. Although other babies were in the NICU, your voice was distinct to me; talk of a tie between a mother and her child, I felt it! I connected with you instantly. No wonder it was said that no one could understand the bond between a mother and her child- it was purely divine.
I kept giving thanks to God for improvement in your health.
I could not see you for 48 hrs because of neonatal ward protocols and procedures, and I was under observation, but it felt like forever.
Finally, I was strong enough to see you, and you were also perhaps waiting for your mother’s loving arms around you.
Seeing your lovely face became my obsession. I wondered what your facial features were like your Dad’s or Mine as I entered NICU.
When I gazed at you eventually, It transcended description when I finally met you. You were sprawled on your little bed. Your limbs, touching the sides of your cot, and your beautiful nose defying the tubes passed through them for oxygen stood out as aristocratic, like your grandpa’s. Though shut in a restful slumber, your eyelids and lashes were long and dark. And your head swelled from what was termed cerebral edema. It looked beautiful and perfect to me.
I asked the health attendants if I could lift you, and I did. I wished that moment was captured. But even though it was not physically so, it will forever be impressed in my mind. You proved to me how sensitive you would grow up. As your eyelids fluttered open to reveal your beautiful and innocent eyes. I immediately held you close and wept with Joy as my hope became a reality. Here I am, standing in the middle of the ICU hall, oblivious to the beeps of monitors and other life-saving equipment working away, holding my baby in my arms; it undoubtedly flouts human reasoning. It is a miracle that cannot be verbalized or explained in lexical semantics. I called you my miracle baby; even when you grow old and grey, so long I have a breath, you will always be MY MIRACLE BABY.