Bedtime

BEDTIME

Bedtime, they say but not yet..the mind whispers,

Ending the travails of the day to embrace the hope named tomorrow.

Deaden the distracting sounds of the world and drift inwards,

Turning and tossing through the colorful scenes of yesteryear.

Isn’t the mind a playground of THE past as well as a window to THE future?

Miraculously, the window is thrown open as the playground loses its appeal.

Ease ever so gently into peace-land for yes, it is Bedtime.

 

 

Moms in waiting: One Question To Never Ask

Moms in waiting: one question to never ask

Moms in waiting: One question to never ask

She might be a newly wed or even ‘old’ in the ‘game’ but one question I believe we would do well never to ask moms in waiting is:

‘What are you still waiting for?’

Yeah…for now, I want to ‘enjoy’ life to the fullest without the undesirable-peace-robbing-encumbrances aka children but when we are ready, I’ll let you know so you can subscribe to daily twitter feeds of happenings in my uterus..

Or

‘E se kiakia o’ (*be fast about it*)

Sure..we’ll be super-fast so as so bear children before it goes out of fashion and gets banned..maybe we’ll just ‘enter’ the Guinness book of records for that..

or

‘In 9 month’s time, we want to come eat jollof rice at your place’

Yeah…even though you’ve not finished ingesting and digesting what you just ate, we’d definitely invite you over to wine and dine some more when the time is ripe…

Tongue in cheek responses to the same question presented in different ways. Those are the typical words ‘we’ often tout around, sometimes with all seriousness, and sometimes in jest.

I love weddings but it seems the ‘Pressure Pack’ bares their loving fangs immediately after the bridal dance.

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Knowing glances / winks at what comes ‘tonight’. Pointed questions after 1 or 2 months of wedlock (I got those questions too). Searching glances trying to discern the stage of the ‘bump’ while wondering why it is not showing yet.

Might be true that these are sometimes borne out of real concerns and love but those words uttered sometimes in love are intrusive, bothering on insensitivity and does nothing than to send the worry gauge shooting past the reasonable limit.

Especially if the ‘waiting’ is not by design but rather ‘forced’ by circumstances or medical issues.

Lovingly showing concerns is not out of place but the words are better carefully chosen for it not to be ‘counter-productive’.

Silence indeed becomes golden barring any tactical way to show concern or support.

If I have to share some of the outrightly insensitive words I have heard spoken, you’d marvel and if the roles be reversed, I doubt the ability of many people to handle the pressure of ‘waiting’ well.

Like telling a (waiting) friend to devote some time from seeking after ‘stylish’ / ‘exhibitory’ living to children-seeking is akin to yanking the scab off a wound.

Moms in waiting: looking good isn't a crime

It really is a punishable offence under the laws of the land to not have a child and yet be so unsad and stylish…?

Or telling moms in waiting that they are not doing enough in ‘seeking help’ and they are just contented being childless. Forget that this particular contented-non-seeking-help mom in waiting’s husband is a medical practitioner.

For real?

I say think that is very insensitive.

Talk about trying to understand how a size 42 shoe size fits, in my size 39 heels!

We never truly know how it feels until we are there.

We never really understand the pain until we are bitten and beaten.

For all we know, that friend might be wetting her pillow with gut-wrenching tears, praying night after night and still manages to get up in the morning, smiling and masking the frustration and pain in her stylish wears.

And for all we know, they might have tried several options and undergone many invasive and painful procedures in their seeking.

We would never know.

All I am saying is that newly-weds and women TTC should be ‘freed’ to live / enjoy their lives without the added pressure of scrutinizing gazes and intrusive queries delivered insensitively. They should be spared the added heartache of having to lay their pains bear for all to see.

Children are the heritage of the Lord and fruits of the womb are the rewards but sometimes…life sucks. Certain things rarely go as planned, the rewards may not be ‘swiftly’ delivered according to our desires.

Delayed rewards isn’t the same as denied rewards.

Asking those questions do nothing more than rub in the pain for those whom conception is not just happening for regardless of everything.

It also seems to project having {biological} children as the only validation for the married state.

The least, which coincidentally is the best we can do is to PRAY for them. And they do not even have to know this.

We would do well to ease up on the pressure, back off and instead start backing them up in prayers and soothing words of encouragement if needed.

So when next you see radiant moms in waiting with brightly colored lips in her high heels and you feel the need to ask ‘what are you still waiting for?‘, pray, bite gently on your tongue…and say instead:

You really look gorgeous…

Let us be the songs that make them strong.

Remember, they are moms…the babies are just not here yet.

 

 

 

The Many Hues of Love

The many hues of love

The Many Hues of Love

The many hues of love are as bright as they are dark,

Warming her many souls through the light and the dark without slack

Still gracious to shower unprepared ones with dews like a spring

Welling from an untold place for all to drink.

-Biolaleye

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Love happens in diverse unexpected ways.

For Hubs & I, we strode into it. Sans the thousand ‘wingfull’ butterflies fluttering, preening and prancing all around their unwilling abode.

From friend zones in a far away friendly Northern land to the PRESENT.

I think one of the beauty of love is it happening when it is least expected and when it is the least in the would-be recipient’s importance list.

For some folks (like us), they walk unknowingly into LOVE, but some fall. If the fall is hard, the rise may be harder.

But if the foundation is concretely solid with steely reinforcements, the light has ample chances to intermittently glow as bright as it did. IN THE BEGINNING.

In the beginning.

But just how many lights glow as bright as the beginning, all year round? All decade round?

In reality, the fire requires numerous stoking, and tireless re-stocking to keep it burning bright.

This stoking and re-stocking translates to some tiring work, sometimes with bags under the eyes and little ones tugging at the hems of one’s skirt…exercises in faith. And hope.

Trusting the embers to keep receiving the needed fiery strength to keep burning for us to keep going.

For us to keep the many hues of LOVE within our line of sight. Through the ups and downs. Agreements. Disagreements. Celebrations. Illnesses. Promotions. Demotions. Children. Lack of Children. TTC. Losses. Grief.

It requires having faith in the author of LOVE Himself. The ONE WHO first loved us and taught us to love.

And keeping faith with each other. And Communicating through the faith-keeping.

Uniting to keep stoking the fire (together) on some nights -hot and cold.

Drawing roasters and schedules for manning the fire lest both sleep off, complacent and the fire tragically goes out completely.

Fighting sometimes over position of best advantage for fire-stoking.

Sometimes fighting silly, quietly and coldly.

And sometimes laughing out loud at all the silliness of fire-stoking and fighting.

And knowing when to rally round to keep the embers from dying out.

For if the logs burn out completely, the many hues of love become indistinct, unrecognizable and barely discernible.

So here is to all the young and old couples alike, losing count of the countless fallings and risings, still keeping faith while struggling to keep the embers burning…knowing that the hues of love can only become visibly illuminated when the fires are tirelessly stoked.

May the embers never die.

 

 

The Gloomy Sky that Spoke..

I’m writing this at my break time at work amidst my cluttered desk.

Sometimes, it appears as if a tornado just ravaged my work desk with the loads of unattended requests, transactions, quotes, Orders, Cards scattered all over, etc. I rather think it has less to do with having too much to do and more to do with organization, anyway.

I know. You know.


Maybe my luck is running high and you would even like to drop by one of these days so I can give you a ‘tour’ of the place I call home for now.

That tour would not take more than 5 seconds considering that the palatial edifice I am talking about is more like a ‘macro studio’ with its own fair share of space…

Humor me, will you?
Thank you. (*wink*)

You are however guaranteed to see more within those short 5 seconds than you would think or imagine such a ‘small’ space could hold.

Clothes on the pressing board, ‘truck-load’ of laundry inside the red laundry basket nestling in a corner at the far end of the passage, 3-day washed clothes waiting to be freed from the washing machine, hair brushes here and there, a shoe here and there, ‘that’ black belt waiting for the next tender-hearted human to pick it up, pencils, story books, note books, crayons, and even much more.

You’re not scared much, yet, are you?

Don’t worry, you won’t trip and you won’t get your dainty foot on any mushy, slimy stuff…we’ve got it perfectly under control as the ‘spirit’ has been leading. Yeeeesss.

Maybe that’s also your truth as much as it’s mine. If it is, then we may as well be kindred spirits and on the flip side…I’m owning my truth. I love it regardless.

Maybe I’ve got too much to handle (like you), today. Everyday.

But tell you what? The state of my desk and home absolutely matches the state of my heart. Very much so, lately.

Myriads of thoughts constantly running amock, littering the floor of the mind…what to make for breakfast tomorrow or dinner tonight, how to keep my lil men entertained, how to constantly ‘bend’ them into shape, D1’s weight or lack of, D2’s stuttering, the many outstanding tasks, phone call ‘debts’, the business, the career, the future, the looming recession and it’s unavoidable effects, skyrocketing bills, all those unlatched ‘containers’ on the rickety trucks always falling on innocent motorists, alarming robbery incidences, my friends needing and deserving ‘fruits of the womb’, little Ire, some doses of heaviness, cobwebs of dark stark grief…and the list goes on.

It’s crazy.

But I have a familiar escape…which is to (almost always) pick and go through my phone to indulge in a favorite pastime of mine…going through pictures taken by me and smiling to myself as I reminisce. In the gallery is the picture above taken somewhere at Grasmere during the last holiday.

It is an ‘ordinary’ picture of an ‘ordinary’ sky that could have been taken anywhere in the world but it spoke to me all the same.

My back on the heavy hammock, Tab poised to capture the sky at the Park.

I agree that this particular picture doesn’t cut it where good / quality pictures are being rated, it was and still is not the best of (my) pictures but I liked it all the same. Just because. It’s 100% mine.

It is a bit gloomy…dark clouds shielding the warm rays of the sun on a cold but (slightly) warm summer morning. Contradictory ba?

But it was only a matter of time before the sun escaped…bursting radiantly forth, bathing everyone it smiles upon with its warm glow.

The picture spoke to me loud and clear.

It reminded me of a very important fact I constantly overlook in all the hustling and bustling and thinking and doing that marks each day.

It told me that if I care to look up (again), I might just catch a glimpse of the sun striving to come forth from behind the clouds… of doubt, fear, sorrow, inadequacies, insecurities, instability, lack, etc.

It told me again that b’ekun pe di ale kan…ayo nbo ni owuro….(if weeping endures for a night, joy comes in the aftermath)

It spoke of hope…and of sunshine coming after the rain, sometimes.

It told me to let you know that whenever those ‘clouds’ you know so well loom large, the key is in looking up. To Him who is able to give the sun the strength required to break free from the dark clouds ensnaring it…He’ll allow the sun shine again and melt away all those thoughts and fears.

The sun will shine bright again. On me. On you. If we just look up and allow the sky to speak to us.

Have a very bright week.

Maternal Mortality: A Fatal Error…one too many

Maternal Mortality in Nigeria

MATERNAL MORTALITY…A FATAL ERROR…

She was shivering and sweating profusely as her hubby stood by wiping the beads of sweat off her fevered brow.

Her brave clear eyes sparkled with unshed tears as she struggled to keep faith in line with the many verbal admonitions. As she had been doing for 5+ painfully long weeks.

Bravely enduring the pain wracking her entire being with all the tubes passed into her, the thirst and hunger…muttering to herself at intervals…praying the pain would go away…praying she would walk out of that room to be with her baby…praying the administered drugs would work the required miracle…keeping faith…

Faith…

Then the dreadful nerve-wracking cough that always shook her to the core threatening to snuff the life out of her approached even as I silently prayed it would go away immediately while patting her fevered back.

The cough heeded not my pleas as it tauntingly came, cruelly mocking our efforts and prayers.

But it came with a strange visitor this time around….the visitor whose presence was announced by the pungent smell which filled the room as she spat into the small clear bowl held out to her. It appeared that the ‘pus’ ‘originally’ draining through a pipe inserted into her, by the side…somehow maneuvered its way to her esophagus…

I knew there was trouble even as I desperately maintained a cool exterior, trying to calm down inwardly as I cling to hope….maybe this is nothing afterall…maybe she would be treated only for malaria and everything would be fine.

Hope…

…only a few days back, hope was burning brighter than a million megawatts bulb as she began to take little steps round the surgical ward and down the corridor, aided by her husband…and the doctors deliberated on when to introduce oral (fluid) sips to her parched throat…after 6 long weeks.

The prognosis was great, the level / rate of progress / response was astounding for someone brought in half-dead with little chance of recovery.

She turned to look at me, showing me what came forth from deep within her as she held out the small clear receptacle….I motioned to ‘Mi’, her hubby to get the nurse(s).

The nurse dutifully came but could only encourage her to hold on for the doctors as she was powerless to prescribe or administer any drug without the doctors authorization.

I stared helplessly at her as cold compresses were being applied to bring the fever under control.

Noon was approaching but the retinue of doctors are yet to come around for the morning ward round because the same set of doctors are handling an important surgery. They have been handling surgeries, back to back, so we were told.

Same set of doctors…covering the entire surgical wards -male and female.

I tried not to panic as I stole a glance at her again. Maybe ‘he’ could help as I whipped out my phone to place a call through.

But ‘he’ is also busy at the hospital where he practices and would not be able to come straight away. Probably because the same scenario is playing out over there, albeit on a smaller scale. Many patients…few doctors available.

Wait for the doctors, he said. They are the only ones who could properly access and prescribe or advise what to do…he could not bring in ‘anything’ from ‘outside’ even if he wanted…they wouldn’t allow it and he couldn’t teach them what to do as it was no longer a gynecological/obstetric case but surgical…technically they know better…I understand…perfectly…

I kept hoping against hope.

I looked at her again, a shadow of her radiant self. She still wore the hair she must have painstakingly made over one month ago in her cosy and colorful salon where she practices what she loves (rather than what she studied at the uni). She loved hair, make ups, accessorizing, head-gear manipulation and tying -beauty generally.

She was passionate about her chosen path and was set to go places…an industrious lady, she was.

Her tired eyes, clear, still full of life but no longer twinkling…her mouth, the usual smile playing at the corners had long taken flight as it could not understand why it wasn’t needed as often as before anymore.

Her body, battered…ravaged…with all the tubes and ‘hydra’ needles passing through at different points to drain fluid as well as replenish, replace and nourish in order to ‘keep keeping’ the raging infection ravaging her system under control.

Her swollen legs which are unbelievably nearly thrice their usual size, garbed in the brown medical control stockings drawn up to her knees, gingerly rested on the foot rest.

To think that just 5 weeks ago, things were completely different…she had just given birth to the little bundle of joy whom we all awaited with so much joy and love. The much awaited little angel whom I was yet to see as we battled to save the mother.

The doctors, about 6 of them eventually came around, joined by more nurses…some minutes to 1pm…for the morning ward round that ideally would have been done with hours back!

They are specialists -led by the chief consultant…good at what they do but encumbered by the system they operate in.

Too much to do by so few…with so little.

Tests were prescribed even as they laughed away the amateurish postulation that ‘pus’ came out from her throat. They are two different tracts…they believed…it is not possible, medically.

But tests would establish what the problem was and they scribbled away.

And the infection ferociously and resolutely raged on unbeknown to all.

No drug could be given until tests are done.

Approval for tests sought….granted. Blood samples taken and handed over to take to the laboratory.

Too late for tests…Laboratory closed for the day!

Even if the tests were done elsewhere, the results would have to be evaluated the following morning, by the same set of doctors who may not be able to come around till late morning or noon, again.

Effectively, nothing more could be done till the following morning. Nothing more except to wait, hope and pray.

She was a bit relieved as the fever relented a bit and already recovering what was left of her gait by the time I got ready to go back to work. A close friend of hers came in to check on her. She is also a nurse at a different hospital.

They cracked jokes, she laughed. Her spirit was lifted once again as the fever further subsided. She said she couldn’t wait to walk out of that hospital as she was tired.

They urged me to go back to work and I reluctantly left after some time promising to come back the following day, a Saturday.

Baby Ire would be brought to see her..to hold and to cheer…and I would see them both. I would get to hold my little niece for whom I bought some more pretty things from my travels earlier in the month.

But she never made it till Saturday morning. She indeed left the ward, but not on her feet.

September 5, 2015…shortly before dawn, she passed on. She was 30 years.

She never got to suckle / breastfeed the much awaited bundle of joy. She never got to dress little Iretomiwa in the pretty little things she lovingly bought in anticipation of the motherhood journey.

She never lived to celebrate the 1 year anniversary of her marriage which was October 10.
She never lived to go back to work or to actualize any of  her many dreams.

I only got to see her lifeless body as they lifted her onto the cold gurney for the heartbreaking journey to the morgue…nothing changed between Friday afternoon when I saw her and Saturday morning except that she did not get up when I called…could not hear or talk to me…Hours later, I walked- sobbing behind her as they wheeled her out of the ward hoping she would defy all odds and flip the cold, metallic cover up…and rise…

She succumbed five weeks after she was delivered of her baby. The infections succeeded despite all the care, efforts, resources…she just never made it. She now forms part of the sad maternal mortality statistics, in Nigeria for 2015.

She was my younger sister…in law and love.

It is truly heartbreaking. So heartbreaking I wanted to crawl up the hospital wall and perch there hoping to catch sight of her fleeing soul and coerce it back into the lifeless form on the bed…

The only time I felt this way was when I lost my mother 12 years ago.

The world came crashing down again.

I was shattered into a million tiny fragments. I howled like a deranged animal. Voices raised in anguish but she did not come back. Could not.

Cause of death: Infection!
Caused by human error!
A fatal error…one too many.

All the more painful…human error…in this day and age of technological and medical advancement, in Nigeria – a developing economy…in Lagos State – the acclaimed commercial center of the nation.

You see, she was ‘registered’ at a private hospital with beautifully great ‘structures’ but less than great and qualified personnel as events would show so much that they could only deliver ‘promises’…of death. The hospital name belies the result they churned out…to us.

She was managed at the hospital all through the ‘ante-natal’ period through to delivery. And then they got it wrong where it mattered most. They failed woefully and massively. It was a very costly failure.

The Ceaserian Section was bungled and ‘they’ senselessly cut her up, leading to acute infection. Fecal matter (faeces) oozing from the sutured site, post-operation.

She never recovered even though she was a fighter with a brave spirit…after two major surgeries, several transfusions, antibiotics…but in the end, we could only spend..and spend..and spend…hoping and praying she beats it but…

But in all, death is not victorious…neither did the grave conquer.

She is resting, albeit painful to everyone left behind.
The body is gone but the soul lives on…resting up there and watching over her little one.

So many maybes, whys and what ifs.

Maybe she would still be here with us if my family did not go on summer vacation and hubby was on ground…maybe the CS should not have been authorized…maybe the second surgery wasn’t necessary…maybe they should have registered and delivered at the State Specialist hospital instead of the private hospital where they messed up everything…maybe….maybe…maybe…maybe

There are so many pertinent issues surrounding this case…from the ‘Private’ hospital to the renowned ‘State Specialist’ hospital. Those issues are as intricate as they are weighty.

Incompetence…unprofessionalism…negligence…etc

Litigation or petitions would not bring her back to us…baby Ire…husband…parents…siblings but if this could serve as a deterrent and prevent some other families suffering this way, then it might just be worth the effort.

But how many more preventable deaths need to occur before the government declares a state of emergency in the healthcare sector in Nigeria?

Nobody is truly secure. Nobody. Not the privileged who can afford to hop on the next available flight or charter flights to the developed countries for proper medical attention. Not the less-privileged or the ‘middle-class’ / ‘in-betweeners’

Anybody could be a victim of these inadequacies and systemic failures.

What is the cost of the life of the average Nigerian?
What does it take to do the right thing, at the right time and with the right tools?
How long would this continue?

Having ill-equipped hospitals is as good as not having any in the first place. Of what use is a specialist hospital that does not have blood in its blood bank to cater to emergencies? Of what use is an hospital with inadequate oxygen tanks?

Inadequate infrastructure stares us in the face at every turn.

I would never forget in a hurry few of the events that rubbed some of these inadequacies in…from sourcing for blood several times which is mostly unavailable at the hospital’s blood bank and which the patients / families have to struggle to source for by themselves at exorbitant cost….to sourcing for medications / drugs…to sourcing for supplies such as latex gloves, methylated spirits, etc…to the Tap in the room / ward that never brought out water throughout…to the poorly maintained infrastructure…toilets…fans…patients’ families having to clean up patients as well as their spaces themselves…things which should have been provided in the first place by the hospitals under normal circumstances, in saner societies.

But the circumstances are anything but normal and our society is far from being sane.

The weeks spent hopping in and out of that hospital opened my eyes to the acute inadequacies of our healthcare system.

We are basically running on no steam!

Beyond maternal mortality, lives are being lost daily, unnecessarily in this nation.

So many questions begging answers here. The answers would do nothing to heal the wounds and there can never be closure for any family grieving a loved one in this manner or in any other manner.

The pain never truly go away, regardless of how dull / dim it might grow with time, regardless of how much we believe. It is always silently and painfully present.

That is why I would be taking up the campaign again from where I dropped it…the campaign against maternal mortality. In my own little way, in my corner / space on the web….hoping to create an enduring ripple…so that other families could be spared pain, agony and loss in like manner.

No child deserves to walk through life without a mother’s love / care…
Every (wo)man deserves access to qualitative medical care,
No parent deserves to outlive their child / ward in this manner…in any manner

If no other woman have to needlessly die during / after childbirth to avoidable causes, then the battle is closer to being won.

I believe it is possible to reduce these sad incidences to the barest minimum if not totally eradicate them.

No woman deserves to give up her life just because she wants to give life to another being. This must stop.

By God, it will. I believe.

Can I count on you to lend your voice to the call to #endmaternalmortality in #Nigeria?

END MATERNAL MORTALITY IN NIGERIA…IN DEVELOPING COUNTRIES…

Maybe our collective voices would result in a deafening sound, loud enough to spur our government to take the necessary steps and act appropriately in putting measures in place.

Maybe the tiny ripple each of us would create in our tiny corner of the web would just metamorphose collectively into a massive force, enough to propel our leaders into taking the much-needed steps to safeguard the lives of our women in this land.

I habour a glimmer of hope, but maybe this is more than enough to make a difference in this battle for the lives of our would-be mothers.

© Biolaleye and Ramblings of A Nigerian Momaholic, 2015.
Unauthorized use and/or duplication of any material on this site without express / written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Biolaleye and Ramblings of A Nigerian Momaholic with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Safe in the Woods


Softly she sways to the rhythm of the winds
As the sweetly singing birds lure with their soothing melodies
Far away in a distant land where no rancor dwells
Even as she closes her eyes in utter contentment

In, the melodious tunes beckon her battle-weary soul
No wailing could deter as she breaks free from the bonds of love

Trust in the upward pull, she whispers as she floats away
Holding on tight lest the singing stops and the spell breaks
Escape, sweet soul..escape from the woods into eternal rest

Words, soothing but searing, brings little respite
O little ones, smile at the winds and sway to the songs
Out of the woods, blissfully all will be someday
Despairing not at the vain glories of the woods
Safe in the woods, nobody ever is.

© Biolaleye and Ramblings of A Nigerian Momaholic, 2015.
Unauthorized use and/or duplication of any material on this site without express / written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Biolaleye and Ramblings of A Nigerian Momaholic with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Letter to My Daughters-in-law (I)

Dear Daughters (in-waiting),

I had waited so long to remove the ‘in-waiting’ part so I could properly address you as ‘daughters’.

I can’t explain this but you have been on my mind a lot lately. Maybe it is the realization that time is not slowing down as I celebrate the sixth mother’s day and these boys of mine are growing way too fast.


If you are lucky, they would have put on a whole lot of flesh by the time you eventually meet. They are still ‘lepacious’ as I write this letter to you but slim shadies or not, you are going to have really beautiful times together.

I am aware that the days I have with them is less one today while you are going to be with them for a lifetime so I intend praying for you and keeping you real close, starting from now. Yes, I do mean it.

Not in the ‘monster-in-law’ fashion so do not entertain any fear there.

I mean, my sons are going to transfer some of the love I presently ‘colonize’ to you, so what better way to consolidate other than to be close to you both?

I am positive we will complete one another in a good way and we sure are going to be great friends and confidants, if you allow me.

You know, decades before we met, I knew you would definitely come and ‘complete’ my all-boys family. Whenever well-meaning people tells me to ‘try’ one more time for a girl, I always smiled and say to them that I’ve got two girls in waiting. Haven’t I?

Ain’t you lucky to have a new mother that had been waiting her whole life just to meet and love you? I am not going to replace your own mothers or expect you to love them any less, no one can and no reasonable woman should expect that of anyone and I sure am reasonable.

By the way, your mothers and I are also going to love one another and be best of buddies, I hope and pray.

Talking about love, you are sure getting more than a double portion of what I got in my time and so I say you are doubly lucky.

Lest I forget, one word about trying for ‘one more’; my daughter, do not ever fall into that trap because those ‘well-meaning’ people would not stay with you through the red-eyed sleepless nights nor would they send you the much needed cash for Huggies or Milk whenever the stash is running low!
Moreover, what if you try for ‘one more’ and end up getting the same ‘result’, are you going to keep trying for ‘one more’ until you probably end up with a complete football team? I no dey for that one o.

Be it an all-boys or all-girls brood, you are blessed regardless; the main objective is for them/him/her to be healthy and for you to have the resources to give them/him/her a ‘good life’.

Omo l’omo nje o, ikan o ju’kan lo!

I should know because I’ve been around awhile.

Now let me gist you a little about our evening yesterday; I had just come back from work and trying to get so much done amidst the hullabaloo and little tangle of feet and arms that were your husbands to-be with the added bonus of an aching back. (I tell you, it is as beautifully hard as it gets but you are going to enjoy it and hopefully, you would get an easier deal..Don’t ask me about it yet. *wink*). When you get to ‘that phase’, remember to smile thankfully through the stress and enjoy every moment you get.

One of your would-be husbands -D1 joined me in the kitchen while I sweated over the ‘basic’ rice and fish stew to ask me countless times how he could help.

He is one heck of a nice dude, that one. (Daughter, you are ‘seriously’ getting a GEM!)

And mind you, he doesn’t do that ‘once in a blue moon’, he does it every time I am in the kitchen. He takes pleasure in helping people though this could be a clog when one is trying hard to put a quick one together and escape from the ‘hot house’…you know what I mean?

For your sake, he’d hopefully stay this way though he might not be easily primed away from his News channels and Champion League games to offer you help EVERY TIME the way he abandons cartoon network or his art work anytime I am in the kitchen today but whenever he does ‘saunter’ into the kitchen to assist you in any way, count it all joy and revel in it.

A word of caution though, do not ever take this for granted in any way.

You see, in this part of the world, it is a big deal because men are raised to be the ‘lords’ of their homes; many have mis-interpreted this ‘lordship’ and would never get off their high horses to do ‘menial’ domestic chores WITH their wives even though such are always quick to critique wifeys’ culinary / cleaning / bedroom skills while some of the men around are simply too laid-back to help.

Being laid-back and lazy are birds of a feather, right? (Your would-be husbands are neither)

Such men would never fully understand the concept of marriage let alone know what a little help could do for a young woman but thankfully, you are in for a sweet ride.

I digress.

‘We’  succeeded in making dinner and served everyone, and just as your husbands-to-be were going through the motions of wolfing down the rice and fish stew topped with plantain under the watchful eyes of your dad-in-waiting, D1 lifted his head and stopped me in my tracks with these words spoken in the tenderest innocently babyish voice. (Never mind that he is six now, I kinda miss those tediously sweet baby years)

”Mum, you’re doing a very nice hard job, maybe you should relax a little and eat”

I could barely mutter the lovey-dovey acknowledging thanks before escaping into the room to stretch my back and ‘relax a little’ forgetting the ‘..and eat’ part.

A little warning for you my dear daughter (in-waiting), some days are going to come when after cooking up a storm your tongue would want nothing to do with the results of your effort.

I’m sniffing as I type this but don’t mind your mum-in-waiting, she could be an emotional wreck at the slightest provocation.

Now to the big warning ‘numero uno’: Your husband-to-be is a very ‘un-african’ caring, considerate and passionate young man who is not shy to express his love verbally and is also always delighted to lend a helping hand.

You would come to know the characteristics of the ‘typical african’ man very soon.

From cleaning to nail painting, your would-be husband is a star – a real catch if I may say so.

I just got my nails painted, unsolicited and while trying to nap at that. Talk about a 5-star treatment on my bed.

It is however up to you to decide whether you would want to grimacingly waltz around town in the smear campaign lovingly wrought on your dainty toes.

Never knew they are this bloated…and blue of all the colors in the pack!

So when you’re gifted with a man who is willing to help out in the kitchen as well as smear paint your nails, graciously accept it and count yourself lucky to be among the ‘blessed’ ones.

Another warning though, never dwell on this enough to draw a roaster for you both as the tiny ‘african’ lord in him may flip off the handle.

You see, men are naturally proud and a tiny unguarded moment may tilt the scale. So watch out for this.

Let me put a rein on the advise for now lest I bore you before we meet finally; did I mention that I got a beautifully ‘tied’ bracelet and letter (from one of your would-be husbands) and a nice little mint dress (from your dad-in-waiting) as my gifts for this year’s mothers’ day? I have a juicy little gist for you regarding the gifts which I would definitely share soon.

A last word of advice (for now), I would not want you to turn yourselves into glorified slaves for your husbands or kill yourselves while trying to carry out your duties but you do need to be the Proverbs 31 woman (though I’m still striving to meet up), take care of their NEEDs and absolutely respect them. A little secret here, some men love ‘praise-singing’ and ALL men love to be respected.

I know they love you as much as you love them, if not more, so keep respecting them and massage their ego as constantly as they help and tell you, ‘sweetheart, you’re doing a nice hard job, maybe you should relax a little and rest’.

I have tons to share with you but we still have several years between now and then, haven’t we?

Love always,

Your mum-in-waiting.

© Biolaleye and Ramblings of A Nigerian Momaholic, 2015.
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