MONIFE

The day I became a mother

MONIFE

Chapter Six

It happened on a Monday.

I was eighteen when I became a mother. Still learning myself…and now responsible for another life.

The rain had been threatening all morning with heavy clouds dragging across the sky like they were mourning something. Grace was at the market. I was home, resting on the couch, belly round and hard, arms wrapped around my middle like I could hold the baby in a little longer.

I was only eight months in. I wasn’t ready. Emotionally, mentally, even physically. My bag wasn’t packed. The baby’s clothes were still folded in a drawer we borrowed from the neighbour. I hadn’t even picked a name.

But babies don’t wait for perfect timing.

The pain came suddenly sharp, low, and deep. It wrapped around my spine and pushed through my stomach like a wave crashing without warning.

I froze. Waited. Prayed it was just a false alarm. But then it came again, stronger this time. More commanding.

By the third wave, I was crying.

Not from the pain…not entirely. But from panic.

I was alone.

I tried calling Grace. Not reachable.

Tried Mrs. Adebayo. Switched off.

The sky cracked open, releasing the rain in thick, angry sheets, just as another contraction slammed through me.

That was when our neighbour, Mama Kemi, heard me screaming.

She rushed in barefoot, wrapper flying, shouting prayers as she helped me into her husband’s car. My voice shook. My hands wouldn’t stop trembling. My mind kept racing with questions.

“What if the baby’s too early? What if I’m not strong enough? What if something goes wrong?”

The hospital wasn’t far, but the road felt endless. Every bump sent pain shooting through me. Every breath was a battle.

And then…

* * * *

White lights. Nurses. Rubber gloves. My mother bursting through the ward door, breathless and crying. Her hand found mine, warm, tight, trembling.

“You’re okay,” she kept whispering. “You’re okay, baby. You’re okay.”

But I wasn’t okay. Not until I heard the cry.

A piercing, shaky wail that filled the whole room and then filled something in me.

My baby.

My son.

He was tiny. Pink. Wrinkled like a question mark. But perfect. Absolutely perfect.

They laid him on my chest, and I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t cry. I just stared at him as if I’d known him forever.

My son.

The proof that even in the darkest moments, something good, something pure could still come forth.

* * * *

That night, I couldn’t sleep. Not from the pain or exhaustion, but from wonder.

Grace sat beside me, watching the baby with eyes that glistened but didn’t spill. For a long time, she didn’t say a word.

Then softly, she said, “He looks like you.”

I smiled weakly. “But he has his father’s ears.”

She didn’t respond to that. Just reached over and touched my hand.

“You’re a mother now,” she whispered. “Everything will change.”

I nodded slowly. “But I’m still me… right?”

She looked at me for a long time. “Yes,” she said. “You. But stronger.”

To Be Continued…