children

Two Pregnancies, and a Birthday

Although this is a late post, the lesson from this story is life-long.

My younger son recently turned three.

birthday-cake-ideas-for-3-year-old-boys-13

It wasn’t surprising that most families and friends that called to give their birthday wishes thought he turned four. The reason being that he acts, talks, and thinks older than his age. I sometimes think too that he’s been in this world longer than three years 🙂

It got me thinking while I was at work that day, as I reflected on my pregnancies, and the years after.

Being pregnant with son #1 …

You see, my older son, who is now four years old was born at 33 weeks. I was so impatient with that pregnancy that I prayed every morning after my thirtieth week that the child would come. I was tired. Suffice to say that doctors had put me on weekly progesterone shots to help prevent preterm labor. Once a week, after my seventeenth week, I would take a drive to the doctor’s office to get my shot. Everything seemed to be great until my thirtieth week.

My wish came true with son #1 …

At about the 30th week, I was tired. I was ready to go on maternity leave. I was looking forward to a get-away from work. God heard and answered my prayers three weeks later. He was born at 33 weeks, weighing a little over 4lbs, and about 19 inches in length.

It was a C-section.

He was small. He wasn’t breathing well. He was immediately taken to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU).

I did not anticipate the struggles and challenges in the days ahead. Firstly, I didn’t have the opportunity to hold him right after he was born, like I imagined and wished. I cried. Then my stomach would hurt, so I would stop. But I would cry again, because I couldn’t believe I was missing out on holding my son.

The next three weeks were gruesome. I was discharged while he was still in NICU, and I had to make frequent trips to the hospital to see him, and feed him. The chair by his bed was my bed most days. I still couldn’t hold him for a couple of days because he was still too small. I cried almost every day, wishing he had stayed a little longer in the womb; wishing I didn’t say those prayers to have him so early.

When I was finally able to hold him, I was emotionally and physically drained. I felt the discomfort we both shared each time I held him. He would cry. I would cry too.

I should have been patient. I shouldn’t have wished or prayed him out too early. I should have nurtured him in the womb a little more. Maybe then, all these wouldn’t be happening. The time away from work I had looked forward to, became very stressful and frustrating. I spent most of my maternity leave healing. Had I known? All because I was impatient, and maybe a little selfish.

Son #2 …

keep-calm-it-s-another-boy-4.pngHe came a year later. We were excited!! Another boy!!

For this pregnancy, I was once again subjected to the weekly progesterone shots. But this time, I had learned my lesson, so I chose to enjoy this one. I decided I would not complain, or give attention to my tiredness enough to want me wish the baby out.

I focused on the things that gave me joy; my home, my job, church work, and family (not in any particular order). I kept trying to serve at my duty post, even when I was tired from the pregnancy weight I carried. I tried to eat well, and sleep well. I asked God for strength each day; strength to nurture and carry the pregnancy well. I was still looking forward to maternity leave J but I was ready to wait to allow this one ‘bake’ fully.

During one of my routine check-ups, the doctor had told me the delivery of the baby was “destined for 27 weeks”. I chose to be positive, and hoped for the best. In the meantime, I prayed for patience and strength. I wasn’t going to let fear, tiredness, or maternity leave, make me wish for an earlier (preterm) delivery. This one was going to be baked well.

The delivery …

It was very early in the morning. I was 37 weeks, a day shy of 38. My water broke!!!

I got to the hospital as soon as I could. I was admitted. I slept, woke up, slept, and woke up again. Contractions happened in between, from mild to very intense. The pain-relief medication worked great. So I slept again.

I woke up, and this time it was time.

In three minutes, the baby was out. No pain, no unnecessary drama!!! Boy, was this pregnancy and delivery easy or what?

He weighed 6lbs. He cried. He breathed. I held him so close to my chest.

Easiest pregnancy. Easiest delivery. 48 hours later, we were home … together; all because I wasn’t impatient like my previous pregnancy. I waited for God, and on God to do what He had to do. I allowed Him to let this one ‘bake’. He knew the right time.

Lesson learned …

When God gives us a seed to nurture, He expects us to put ourselves into the business of nurturing. And while you’re waiting for the manifestation, be patient. When you allow the seed to take its proper course, it comes out better, and you’re a happier person.

“He blesses without adding sorrow (and stress)”

Just keep trusting, keep working, keep serving, and keep nurturing at your duty post. In due time, the results will be amazing.img_23791

Each pregnancy journey has been a blessing to me. I have learned through each of my pregnancy experiences that my seeds (pregnancies) are meant to be nurtured. And while I’m nurturing, I must be patient so that its manifestation will indeed be a bundle of joy.

So, now that my youngest is three, stay tuned for the how-old-are-you story.

Learning to Speak ‘Love’

My boys were having fun counting each morsel of ‘eba’ as I fed them the other night. After a while, I thought it would be more fun to have them count in ‘Yoruba’ language. They had learned to count from one through 10 when they were much younger. It’d been a while they had counted, but I was sure they still remembered very well. They could skip a number or two in between, but they usually do pretty well.

So I turned to my 4-year-old, and said “Oya (common now), count in Yoruba”.

He looked into my eyes and stared for a while. I wondered what he was looking at. I was sure he knew how to count in Yoruba, so I waited. After what seemed like 60 seconds, I repeated myself in case he didn’t hear me the first time.
He smiled, and then suddenly roared, squeezing his face, and throwing his hands up in the air.
I thought to myself, “What in the world?”

And then, almost immediately, I laughed out loudly.

Here’s the reason why I laughed; although they knew how to count (in Yoruba), I don’t think they ever knew that the language they counted in was Yoruba. I had always started out by saying “let’s count ‘ookan’ (one)”. When they hear this, they know to start counting in Yoruba. And so my guess was that he didn’t think he knew how to speak/say the numbers in Yoruba. So, telling them to count in Yoruba was strange, and they had no clue.

But what in the world? I thought to myself. He must have been thinking to himself why I wanted him to count in Yoruba when he didn’t know how to. What I should have said was, “Oya, count ookan.” As far as he was concerned, he had never spoken Yoruba before, but he’d heard myself and my husband communicate in a different language – Yoruba. That language was what he tried to speak when he gave the loud groan, throwing his hands up in the air.

That made me think; Is this what my husband and I look like when we speak this language? Is this how we sound when speak – with groans, and facial impressions that look like we are in child labor? Is this what people look like to us when they speak their own ‘Yoruba’? All he wanted to do was speak the language….

And then I got the message. There are thousands of languages all over the world, and it is hard to pass a message across especially when you don’t speak the language. There are languages that sound like melodious tunes in your ears when in fact the words could be insulting. And there are languages that sound like a bull-dozer coming out from your mouth, or languages that are usually complemented with hand gestures that make it look like you’re about to start a war (Yoruba to be precise), and even some that sound like someone just stole your cookie, even though the words said are prayers for you.

Anyway, the lesson I learned is that different languages sound differently to different people. There is only one language though that cuts across the globe – that sounds and means the same thing – LOVE

When we speak and act Love, even my friends from Kabba, IleOluji, Timbuktu, Indianapolis, and Lokoja understand.
Speak Love, and let your message be heard all over the world!

Yoruba is one of the many tribal languages spoken in the southern part of Nigeria. There are 25 letters in the Yoruba alphabets, with the similar ones characterized by accents or hyphens above or beneath the letters. Some other tribal languages spoken in Nigeria include Hausa, and Ibo)