Simi my love

Chapter 11:

Pregnancy while working full-time in a Lagos marketing department was something Simi

would not recommend to anyone.

She was five months along and already exhausted. Her back hurt. Her feet hurt. Her

ankles had swollen so much that only Damilola's large slippers fit her. She'd thrown up in

the bathroom at work twice (thankfully in private, though she was pretty sure her assistant

had heard).

The worst part was the constant comments.

"You're pregnant already? You just got married!" her colleague Bola said with a stage

whisper that probably reached the entire office.

"You look so big for five months," her other colleague offered helpfully.

"I hope you're not planning to work all the way until delivery. I saw a woman in Victoria

Island go into labor in a traffic jam once. Traumatic."

Damilola responded by banning anyone from the marketing department from discussing

her pregnancy at all. This was either very sweet or very condescending, depending on the

day.

By month six, she and Damilola had bought a small car—nothing too fancy, just something

safe for driving between home and the hospital. They'd started preparing the nursery.

Damilola had taken over most of the household duties, which Simi both appreciated and

resented in equal measure.

"I'm pregnant, not disabled," she told him after he tried to stop her from cooking dinner.

"You're also exhausted, and your ankles look like water balloons," he replied, taking the

pot from her hands.

"I want to contribute—"

"You are contributing. You're creating a human being. Let me do the cooking."

It was hard to argue with that logic.

By month seven, Simi had to stop working. The doctor said it was necessary—her blood

pressure was up, she was retaining too much water, and her stress levels were affecting

the baby. Damilola had wanted her to stop months ago, but Simi had insisted on working

as long as she could.

Now, sitting at home alone all day, she understood why he'd wanted her to stop.

Pregnancy, it turned out, was very boring when you weren't working.

She spent her days watching TV shows (mostly Korean dramas, because they were less

triggering than Nollywood movies about pregnant women), reading books, and waiting for

Damilola to come home. She attended doctor's appointments. She went to prenatal

classes. She spent time with Mama Kemi, who had appointed herself as Simi's personal

advisor on all things pregnancy and motherhood.

"You must eat more nutritious food," Mama Kemi would say, bringing yet another plate of

beans and rice. "The baby need strong food."

"Mama, the baby is getting plenty of nutrition."

"Not enough. Eat."

By month eight, Simi was done. She was tired of being pregnant. Tired of waking up

multiple times a night to pee. Tired of her stretch marks and her swollen everything. Tired

of people asking her when she was due (which was a month away, but apparently her

massive size suggested otherwise).

"I want to be unpregnant," she told Damilola one night.

"I know, baby."

"No, you don't. You're not the one who feels like a whale with internal organs that have

literally rearranged themselves to make room for another human."

He pulled her close anyway. "Four more weeks."

"Four weeks is four thousand years in pregnancy time."

She went into labor at 2 AM, three days before her due date. At first, she thought she was

having indigestion—she'd eaten another plate of Mama Kemi's beans and rice for dinner.

But then the pain came in waves, and she woke Damilola up.

"Hospital," she gasped. "Now."

Damilola was a flurry of action—calling the hospital, getting the car, helping her into her

labor gown, supporting her through each contraction. They arrived at the hospital at 3 AM,

and the next sixteen hours were a blur of pain, breathing exercises, and Damilola holding

her hand while she squeezed all the feeling out of it.

At 6:47 PM on a Tuesday evening, Ayaan Damilola Adeyemi came into the world.

He was small and perfect and absolutely furious at being removed from his warm, safe

home. He weighed 3.2 kg and had a full head of hair and Damilola's exact expression of

displeasure when he wasn't getting his way.

"He's beautiful," Damilola whispered, tears streaming down his face.

"He's angry," Simi corrected, but she was also crying.

The nurse cleaned up the baby and placed him on Simi's chest. And despite the pain,

despite the exhaustion, despite the fact that she felt like her entire body had been run over

by a bus, Simi fell in love.

This tiny human. This beautiful, furious, perfect tiny human.

Damilola kissed Simi's forehead, then his son's forehead, and just sat there, looking

amazed.

"We made him," he said, like he couldn't quite believe it.

"Yes, we did."

"He's so small."

"He'll get bigger."

"Not too much bigger, I hope. I like him small."

Simi laughed despite her pain. "He's going to grow anyway."

They called their families immediately. Chief Mrs. Adeyemi screamed into the phone, then

demanded a photo, then insisted on coming to the hospital even though it was almost

midnight. Damilola's father said, "A son. Good," which apparently meant he was very

happy. Simi's mother cried happy tears and said she would come stay with them for a

month to help with the baby.

By the time visiting hours ended, they were alone again—Simi, Damilola, and Ayaan, who

was sleeping with his face all scrunched up.

"He has your mouth," Damilola said, studying their son.

"He has your frown," Simi replied.

They sat in comfortable silence, looking at their perfect, angry baby. Simi felt like she

might burst from happiness. She felt like her entire life had been leading to this

moment—not just the relationship with Damilola, but everything before it. The rejection

from nursing school. The move to Lagos. The ■50,000 in her bank account. All of it had

led here.

To this compound. To this man. To this baby.

"Thank you," she said to Damilola.

"For what?"

"For believing in the vow. For waiting for me. For being patient when I didn't believe in us."

He smiled and kissed her gently. "Thank you for showing up at my gates with your pink

suitcase and changing everything."

When Ayaan woke up for his 2 AM feeding, Simi fed him while Damilola brought her water

and snacks. It wasn't glamorous or easy, but it was theirs. This was their family now ,

This was her life.

And she had never been happier.