“Let’s start from the very beginning, the very place to start. When you read, you begin with A-B-C, when you sing you begin with Do-Re-Mi…”
Everything has a beginning. You and me, PDP and APC, MMS and PMS. In this case though, this is the beginning of how my son came into this world. It all started billions of years ago, when God saw the earth was without void and form – Ok, that’s taking it way too far.
Let’s try this again.
After I married my wife, during our honeymoon phase, I lay with her, totally ignoring the condom that was most definitely sold in a pharmacy outlet down the road… Erm, I doubt the Mrs. would consent to this line of thought, so let’s skip this altogether and try again.
My son came out almost a month too early and that scared the shit out of me. I mean, I still had one month of lectures on how to be a cool dad, but like a sneaky university lecturer, my son set the exams a month too early. He was supposed to be a July baby; he was supposed to be born between the days of 19th-29th July. I was crossing my fingers for 21st July so he could share the same birthday with my younger brother, his uncle he could always fleece for birthday gifts every year all because they share the same birthday. Imagine the shitload of money I would have saved on gifts. But of course, the sneaky young lad that he is, he chose to be born on 29th June. There goes our planned trip to Seychelles Island.
On Sunday, 29th Of June, my wife woke me up around 4am to tell me she was uncomfortable, not that she had gone into labour. She was just simply uncomfortable. Such balls for a woman without a pair. How could I have known the young man she was carrying in her had lent her some big cojones? By 5am, she was not getting any comfortable, so we agreed to go to the hospital just to be sure. And even though we went with all the required hospital necessities, we were pretty sure we’d be turned back.
We were wrong, oh so wrong.
At the hospital, the doctor took one look at her and told her she’d have to be admitted as she was about to go into labour. I kept thinking how impossible that was. We still had three weeks to ride this pregnancy out. I still had three weeks of trying to get in the daddy moment. I asked my aunt who came with us and a Nurse by profession if that was even possible. She said it was. So I had to get ready, for my child was going to be born that day.
My wife was rolled into the labour ward around 9am and I naturally expected her to be out in the next thirty minutes or tops, one hour. This is how it always plays out in the movies, she gets wheeled in and minutes later, I’ll be told to come hold my child.
Hollywood lied to us!
There was nothing of the sort. Her water did not dramatically break to signify the baby was about to be born. I did not drive like a crazy fella to the hospital. I did not barge into the hospital screaming, “My wife is having a baby! My wife is having a baby!” And the emergency room didn’t suddenly leap into action, wheeling her quickly into the delivery room where she pushed about five times, after which the baby would pop out, the doctor would say, “Congratulations guys, it’s a boy”, we’d smile at and kiss each other right before we kiss the baby.
Hollywood can lie for Africa!
All lies! I thought to myself as I stared at the time once more. It was now 1pm and there was no cry of a baby and I was starving. I went for lunch, took a little stroll around the hospital and returned. By 2pm, I started getting apprehensive. What if there was a complication? What if my wife could not take the pain anymore and punched the doctor who slumped on the floor, prompting the nurses to abandon her in order to resuscitate him? What if my child was a breech baby? What was even a breech baby? Were they performing a Cesarean Operation? Would the scar ever heal? Does my child have two heads? My mind was a race track of emotions and questions as I started walking around in zigzag fashion; I had entered the Nollywood phase where the man kept walking aimlessly in front of the delivery room.
After another hour of doing this, I was told my child was born and it was a boy. Mother and Child were in good health, but before I could see them, I would have to go make some payments at the pharmacy. I gladly obliged. When I returned, I saw my wife looking drained but relieved. It was all over. The many hours of labour was over and we had a son to show for it. The joy I felt was indescribable as I looked at the bundle of joy she was carrying.
You want to know what my first thought was?
“Wow, he looks like a potato.”
TO BE CONTINUED.
Written by Anyibaba