This was supposed to be a Journey To Baby post. I was going to write and tell you about the two major arguments Igwe and I were having about the baby: whether we were having a boy or a girl and who the baby would look like. I already blogged about us not know whether it was a boy or a girl [read here], but also, Igwe wanted a girl who would look like him while I wanted a boy who would look like me. Well, I really wanted confusingly identical twin boys who would look like me, but since I knew there was only one baby inside me (although I still held out hope that the second one was hiding and would only reveal himself during birth – hey, with God, all things are possible!) I was really, really hopeful that it was a boy.
When anyone asked the sex of the baby and I told them that I did not know, the next automatic move was for them to predict the baby’s gender themselves. Most people predicted that I was having a boy, and I, too, was starting to drink that Kool-Aid because I really believed or maybe strongly hoped it was a boy. Alas, it was a girl. Still, when I held my little girl in my arms for the first time, I was just overcome and overwhelmed with emotions. I did not understand how I, a sinner could be so blessed.
All that being said, the first thing I said [to Igwe] after I held my daughter (after Igwe and I finished crying profusely) was, “Oh, my God, she looks like you.” At first look, I saw his face. So basically, I lost two battles. I lost the battle of sexes and now the battle of looks. But the war isn’t over. Babies change, so I’m praying that she will turn and look a little like me – even if not completely. I know this is possible because I have seen many babies change over time. Ada Verastic is only 3 weeks old, but I was looking at her pictures from her delivery day and I can already see how much she has changed. It’s amazing. Next week Friday (November 20th), she will be one month.
Ehen, back to my complaint. Considering the fact that I did most of the work – almost all sef! – there is no reason why Ada Verastic should have come out looking like anyone but me. This is serious for me, especially because I, myself look like my father, but you have to understand that at the time of my birth, they did not explain it to me very well that my mommy did all the work, so I came out and gave my daddy the award. In Ada Verastic’s case, however, I explained it very well to her when she was cooking inside me. I told her to (1) come out as a boy, and (2) look nothing like her father, but look like me instead. She defied me on both ends. Before she was born, I used to threaten that if she came out a girl and/or looked like Igwe, I would put her in timeout. But then, I forgot my threat and fell in love with her instead.
It’s important to note that Igwe’s only contribution to Ada Verastic is the one little swimmer in his sperm. I did the rest of the work. I was the one who had to go to monthly and then bi weekly and weekly doctor appointments. I was the one who was stuck with the needle several times because oyibo people have to check you for all the diseases in the world. I was the one who had to do weekly non stress tests that were ironically stressful for me (yes, I’ll blog about them later). I was the one who gained the weight. I was the one who had to watch my diet. I was the one who couldn’t bend down to wash my feet well. I was the one who couldn’t (and still can’t) have my occasional glass of Moscato. I was the one who was wobbling and out of breath from climbing three flights of steps. And of course, I was the one who gave birth to her. And I am the one who is still healing. It was me; it was all me. Igwe gained 10 pounds, which he said was from “us” being pregnant. We were not pregnant together.
In fact, the thing pain me oh! And Igwe keeps telling me, “Pele, your own too will come” – that nonsense statement Naija people make to console and mock you all at the same time. Me being pregnant and Ada Verastic coming out and looking like her father is a classic case of monkey dey work, baboon dey chop, and I will not stand for it! This is why I will be launching a project and committee called, Baby Must Resemble Mommy By Force. One way or another, by hook or by crook, Ada Verastic must resemble me. My people, join me in the fight against babies resembling daddies. We will not take it. It is wrong!
P.S. I am also still hopeful that my next pregnancy will result in confusingly identical twin boys who look just like me. Whatever the case might be, this little girl is ferociously loved, and she has us all wrapped around her little finger. The worst part is that I think she already knows it.