When I was a kid I was always puzzled when I read stories of people who got only one wish and wished wrong. I never understood it. I always wondered why on earth they didn’t do the obvious thing and wish for more wishes first.
When earlier this year, I made a wish, I forgot the cardinal rule myself and wished wrong and when it seemed I was going to get my wish I panicked, prayed intently for its reversal and promised God a forfeiture of all the vice I enjoy if only He would ignore my original wish.
04/08 : To shut my husband up and end his irritating teasing, I took a pregnancy test. The test said he was right. I promptly sent him out for another. He was still right. I wept. Not 2 weeks earlier, I’d boasted to a group of friends how impeccable my child spacing plan was. Now here I was facing another torturous pregnancy; another awful labour. I’m a soldier, not a suicide bomber. How would I do this?! My family, God bless their hearts each one, was very supportive. I got past that quickly and was soon thrilled I was going to have another baby.
06/08/08, Wednesday: I got into bed around 1am, feeling excited. Come morning I would start law school. Suddenly I felt a wetness between my thighs and found I was bleeding. I think my heart actually stopped. I began praying frantically, ‘Lord please don’t take him away from me. Please. I’m sorry I was ungrateful in the beginning.’ After an interminable 77 days of bed-rest during which I prayed more frequently and fervently than ever I have before, my baby came home.
Somehow I got lucky. My foolish wish was ignored. God played by His rules and as always with His children, I won. I intend to delight in all the sunshine that my children will bring and to be the best mother God could have given them- because that’s what He did.
Right now though, I’m experiencing post natal exhilaration and my pleasure is double layered. Like his elder brother, he curled five little fingers in a tiny fist around one of my chunky inelegant ones and for the second time, the pieces of my heart unlocked, shifted and rearranged themselves permanently around the little creature.
The second, delicious layer of pleasure is in not being pregnant anymore. I’m ecstatic that it is over. I feel like I’ve been pregnant since I was 12. I’m sick of my maternity wardrobe; I’d be glad to burn each XL piece of clothing I possess. Lately, I’m often to be found grinning stupidly at my reflection in the mirror. I’m not what I remember me as yet. But heck, it feels so good to see an unpregnant me! I’ve waited 3 weeks to recover decently from the surgery, regain some strength and shed some weight. Come Monday I’m hitting the salon: pedicure, manicure, facial, nails, the works. For the first time in 6 years I’m longing for long hair (short hair now being a maternity memory). Fortunately, it is for sale. I’m hoping by Monday my nose will have returned to its natural size, my face will no longer look like a cake that didn’t rise and my feet will be swollen no more. Then I’m going off in search of miniscule skirts and skimpy tops.
I also intend to completely disappoint and displease all the self-appointed advisors and quack life coaches who have told me authoritatively that a mother of two must be recognizable from a distance. Her fat frumpy matronly mass and nightlife comprising telenovelas must be stamped all over her person. Thanks for the advice but no. I’m not going to become unappealing to myself just to qualify for a mother-of-two sticker for my jacket.
The energy and freedom I so hankered after are finally here. They will dissipate soon enough in my life’s course, so I will enjoy it to the fullest while it lasts. Before the month is out I’ll be hitting the clubs, most likely in an itsy bit skirt. I don’t and can’t believe that raising children right is antithetical to youth and sex appeal. After all I’ve endured to get here, I know for a fact I’m the best person to teach me how to do this. So I’m going to work this mother-of-two thing my way- in grand style.