MONIFE

Breathing again

MONIFE

Chapter SEVEN

The first week after childbirth was a blur.

Sleep came in broken pieces. My body ached in places I didn’t know existed. My son, my tiny, warm miracle cried for everything. Food, warmth, touch, comfort. And I gave it all. Even when I didn’t feel like I had anything left to give.

I named him Ayomide.

My joy has come.

Grace chose it. She said the name had waited long enough to be used.

The hospital discharged us after four days, and the house never felt the same. Everything revolved around him now; his feeding time, his diaper changes, his shallow breaths as he slept. I would lie beside him at night, one hand on his chest, making sure he was still breathing.

Fear was my new companion.

“Would I raise him right? Would I be enough? Would I ever become more than just a teenage mother?”

* * * *

Mrs. Adebayo visited on Sunday afternoon with a small bag of newborn clothes and a laptop in her hand.

“I want you to start preparing for your WAEC,” she said.

I blinked. “Already?”

She smiled gently. “You’ll write it next year. You’ll need time to balance everything. But you also need to remember who you are.”

Who I was.

That phrase lingered.

Because sometimes, I forgot.

Motherhood had swallowed me whole, and though I didn’t regret my child, I missed pieces of myself. The girl who had dreams. Who had plans. Who once stood in a school debate room and silenced the whole class with her words.

I wanted her back.

So I agreed.

Grace helped with Ayomide in the evenings so I could read. Some nights I studied with one hand and held my baby with the other. It wasn’t easy. But little by little, something shifted.

I started breathing again.

Dreaming again.

Living again.

To be continued…