Tag Archives: boy

I Had a Son

I used to think having a baby boy was as bad as not having any babies. Over the years, I have come to embrace the idea of a being mother to a baby boy and even hope that my second will be a baby boy. This hope came from another one of my vivid dreams. This dream happened 5 years ago.

It was one of those busy dreams with a lot of running around and stress. I don’t recall most of the dream but the first bit I was aware of featured a heavily pregnant me in a room with several other women and in the first stages of labour. I remember being very hot and I was perspiring as the labour progressed and I got instructions on what to do. For some reason, no one in the room was in focus. I could not tell if my mama and my sister were amongst my birth attendants. I suspect there was at least one midwife. All I know is that I felt in control despite the alien event that was unfolding within my body.

Next thing, I was half-sitting, half-lying down with my legs in stirrups and pushing the baby out. It wasn’t real time…time seemed to be moving very fast as I watched myself going through the process. I felt a searing pain deep in my pelvis and I thought ‘I don’t think I can do this’. Then there was a more solid pain that threatened to break me in 2 and I looked down to see a baby. I blinked and the baby was clean and in my arms, all wrapped up in the softest cream-coloured blanket and a baby blue hat. I had a son.

As I held him, his dark brown eyes popped open and fixed on mine. As our eyes met, I felt a surge of love deep in the pelvis which he had just reluctantly exited. The only way I can describe the feeling is that of falling deeply and irrevocably in love. I felt the warmth of my love for this tiny boy spread out to every fibre of my being. It felt like the whole world fell away and the only thing I could see in its full glory was my son. The rest of the room was a blur. I could hear dimly conversation in the background but all I could make out was his breath sounds. My olfactory nerves jangled with the smell of him and even my taste buds tingled like I was gorging on the most delicious meal I had ever tasted. My skin prickled as if electrified and the hairs on it all stood on end. My muscles quivered. Tears dripped out of my eyes. I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. I felt like I was simultaneously floating on a cloud and being sucked towards the centre of the world. I was in free fall. I was in love.

The heat and pain were forgotten in that instant. My head emptied of all thought and all I could think was ‘here he is’. Like that was the moment that all the preceding days of my life had been leading to. Together with that love came the overwhelming urge to protect him from the big bad world. I shivered as the protective tigress in me snarled to life with a ferocity that scared me. In that instant as I gazed into his eyes, I felt love, pride and an irrational fear that he could be hurt. I knew then that I would love him more intensely that I had ever loved. That I would celebrate every achievement of his with a purer joy that any I had ever experienced. That I would feel his pain like it was mine. That I would move heaven and earth to ensure he was happy. That I would die to protect him.

I was frozen to the spot, staring into his unblinking eyes when I snapped awake. The power of my feelings stayed with me for the rest of the day. I felt exactly as the great romance writers describe being in love. I had butterflies fluttering in my tommy. The colours of the world seemed sharper, brighter and more intense than usual. The weather was perfect regardless of whether there was rain or sunshine. My creative juices were flowing. I had ideas coming out of my ears. I did not feel thirst or hunger. I just felt ridiculously happy and I walked around all day on a high, humming to myself and doing little dances when no one was looking. So, I thought, this is what so many mothers feel when they finally hold their long-awaited baby in their tired arms. What an incredible feeling! I only experienced it in a dream and the depth of the feeling was immense. It was like a high to end all highs (not that I know what an actual high feels like but I can imagine!). No wonder some women carry on popping out babies long after everyone thinks they should stop. No wonder there are women out there who admit to being addicted to being pregnant and giving birth to babies. All I can say is that I pray one day I will have this experience for real. Because it felt damn good. The best feeling ever!

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Yapendi

You will by now having read previous posts have seen me posing with a baby. And you have noticed when I talk about my children, I talk about the children I will hopefully have some day. So who is this baby? Well he is my Yapendi. My nephew, born to my only sister and he turned one a couple of months ago. I call him Yapendi because although there is a name for maternal aunt (Yapendo) in Fulani, there isn’t a corresponding name for niece or nephew. This I thought was unfortunate and when I lamented about it, his dad (whose Fulani is limited) suggested Yapendi and I think it is perfect. Anyone who knows anything about me also knows that I absolutely adore children and Yapendi being my only nephew, he comes top of the pile. However, he is particularly adorable so I am not entirely biased.

First he is the chunkiest baby ever. Well done to my sister who pushed out a 4.2kg baby naturally. His cheeks practically beg to be kissed and his eyes being the replica of my sisters are so direct that they make me want to be better. I call him chunky munch when it’s not Yapendi. From week 1 of life, he had a mind of his own. I would place him on my chest in a comfortable position and just as I got comfortable myself and my concentration lapsed, he would throw himself either to the side or backwards, prompting frantic scrabbling to make sure he didn’t fall off. He loved being in the bath, kicking his legs happily as soon as he learnt the joys of water and would cry when taken out of the bath. He became ill in that first month and had to be in hospital for weeks and was discharged on oral medications. He was brilliant about it and would happily guzzle all of his meds without a fuss.

At a couple of months old after he mastered the art of gurgling, he started to wake my sister up every morning by gurgling loudly and kicking his legs. When she told me, I was a little sceptical but I went to visit and true enough, every morning about 6am like a mini alarm clock, he would wake us up with the happy sounds coming from his bed. Now I am NOT a morning person so do you think I was happy to be woken up every morning at 6am during my precious few days off work? Actually, yes I was. It was a revelation for me that I could be up at that time every morning and actually I was happier for it. Now I know that it is not the waking up I hate, it is the way I am woken up (usually my husband slamming a door or talking loudly on the phone). Now he is older, he sleeps in for longer but still, as soon as his eyes open, his smile appears.

Another thing he loves is music. I know most babies love the nursery rhymes on their toys but this one loves all music. Every time a phone rings, he starts to bop to the beat and when I want to settle him, all I have to do is sing or hum or beat-box (amateur though I am, my Yapendi totally appreciates my skills) and he is off, shaking his butt, swaying from side to side, lifting a leg up and throwing his arms out, all with his head held to one side and a big grin on his face. When you stop singing, he will look straight into your eyes and dance some more so you get the hint he is not done dancing. I think that is absolutely adorable and when I have a baby, I pray she is exactly like her cousin.

One of the funniest things about having a nephew is trying to talk to my sister on the phone. In the old days, we would not talk for weeks then get on the phone and spend hours catching up (she lives in Nigeria now and we mostly communicating via social media). Nowadays, every time I call, Yapendi first looks on in amazement as my sister laughs hysterically then he demands to have the phone and although he can’t speak, starts to garble words down the line and when I am put on speaker phone he goes completely silent. My sister says he looks around the room in surprise, maybe expecting me in person. Then I sing to him and he realises I am coming from the phone and in his excitement he always always switches off the phone and she has to call back several times in one call.

So what can I say in conclusion about my adorable Yapendi? He is a joyful little boy who has got rhythm and is the spitting image of my beloved sister. He is chunky and deals well with sickness. He likes to cuddle like me and blossoms under positive attention. He loves to dance and thinks his Yapendo’s voice is good enough. Most importantly, he loves his Yapendo and brings her so much joy, it is unreal. My only sadness is that he lives so far away so I don’t get to hang out with him all that much. But never mind, there are planes and smartphones. Yapendo loving is flexible!

A Baby Boy

Dedicated to Fareeda Rasheed – an aunty-in-law and a dear friend taken too soon! 

I am one of 2 girls and for most of my childhood my mama was a single mom so my house was a boy-free zone mostly. No one peed standing up so we didn’t have the toilet-seat-left-up issue or the bits of wee that missed their mark and ended up outside the toilet ball with the associated whiff. No one with boy bits so walking around naked was never awkward outside of ‘visiting hours’. Nor was accidentally opening the toilet door when someone was on the toilet. We were all the same so it was a quick sorry and everyone forgot about it minutes later. As a result, whenever I pictured being older, getting married and having babies, my babies were girls. And to tease me, my sister would say you will have only boys and I would react either with a strident ‘God forbid’ or ‘I hope not’ or ‘please God don’t do that to me’ or similar save me somebody phrases.

 My uncle’s first baby was a boy, who we nicknamed Baby A. His mother was lovely so we became fast friends after the wedding. I was 12 years old. She turned up unexpectedly for one visiting day at my boarding school when I was in JSS1 (first year of secondary school) with a baby bump and I got so excited! This was going to be my first cousin within reach (I have 2 cousins in faraway America). I prayed hard that it would be a girl so I could dress her up and play with her hair. We spent the summer with my aunty and the baby was due the week before we went back to boarding school. We hoped and hoped it would arrive before we had to leave but as these things tend to happen, there was not a peep from the baby. We said our disappointment goodbyes, patted the bump one last time and left.

 2 weeks later, he arrived with great fanfare but I wasn’t to meet him until the end of term. He was 10 weeks old when I first met him and at that stage, he was cute but didn’t do very much. He just fed and slept and I couldn’t even dress him up in cute pink dresses and hair bands. I was pleased but not bowled over. This all changed 5 months later. It was the summer holidays and his mom had decided to relocate to my hometown Yola to learn Fulfulde (the Fulani language), do a HND in Law and generally learn the ways of her husband’s people.

 On weekdays, my sister and I were on babysitting duty from the morning until she came home from Legal studies as the college was called. Being adolescents on holiday, we stayed up late every night and then had a lie in each morning. There was nothing much to do apart from visiting friends and going to buy sweets or drinks from the one main road where all the shops were situated. Sadly, we were by then too old for playing sand games or climbing trees. We were young ladies. Haha.

So back to Baby A, his mom would wake up bright and early, feed him and bring him round to our house. Then, rather than wake us up (which was an impossible task) she would place him on the blanket between my sister and I and sneak out. My sister was the better sleeper so I was generally the one to wake up. The first thing I would notice as I stirred was that the blanket wasn’t moving with me. Then I would feel like I was being watched. Eventually, I would be awake enough to crack open one eye and scope out the situation. Each morning, Baby A would sit patiently and wait for the eye to pop open. Then his face would break into the most disarming irresistable grin. My heart would melt and instead of the usual grumpy awakening, I would pop up and give him a cuddle, drawing from him happy chortling. My sister was soon up in the face of all the merriment. We spent nearly 3 months in this idyllic way.

 We would compete over who would feed him, who would carry him, who would burp him and even who would change his diapers. He was the sunniest baby. Hardly ever cried. Always smiling or laughing. We were there when he mastered how to sit without support and there as he started to crawl and then pull up to stand. By the end of the summer, he was standing and even attempting to take a step. It was with a heavy heart we said our goodbyes when it was time to back to boarding school. This was the beginning of my boy baby love.

 We relocated to London so I missed the infancy of the next boy cousin to be born. Then, when I was in medical school, the news came that my other aunty (wife to uncle no 2) was expecting a baby and he was due during Easter holidays. His grandmother is Egyptian so his mom went to Cairo in preparation for his arrival. My grandmother (her mother-n-law) was also going to be there so I saved up money for flights and I flew to Cairo. He was due the first week of my 4 week holiday. Her tummy was so huge it looked like it would burst and everyone predicted that he would be early being the second baby. Despite her busy upping and downing with the hope of inducing natural labour, she ended up having a caesarean section as there were safety concerns.

 I was much more excited to meet this little boy and he was gorgeous. All black curly hair and very Fulani features. I spent 2 weeks with Modi (that’s his Fulani name) then had to come back. I didn’t see him again until he was 11 months old and I had a 3 month summer holiday. I spent most of it in Kaduna in their home getting to know him. I was his constant companion. Imagine my joy when his first proper word (after da-da and ma-ma and ba-ba) was Diya! I was chuffed. We all went to Abuja together when it was time for me to head back to Birmingham. I was off the next evening. In Abuja, I stayed at my grandparents whilst they stayed at their Abuja home. I went over the morning of departure and spent a few hours saying goodbye to my little sidekick.

 As I got into the car to go back to my grandfather’s and get ready for my flight, he came running out as fast as his little legs could carry him. He bent forward with chubby hands on his thighs and screamed my name as loud as he could. I heard him through the closed windows and slid the window open. His tears broke my heart and I felt myself welling up. I was going to stay a little longer but his mom said ‘no go! I will get changed and bring him over before you go so you can say a final goodbye’. She lifted him to the window and I gave him a quick kiss then detangled him and we drove off. She never did bring him. Looking back, I am glad because I would have made him cry a second time and made it even harder to say goodbye. It was 2 years before I saw him again.

Baby A and Modi were the best convincer for me to be happy with whichever sex baby I may have in the future. Now I look to the near future as a married woman wanting children and all that I pray for is a healthy boy or girl.