Friday, May 1, 2026
Home Blog Page 68

Pray, What Exactly is this Alabastron Business?

By
Maryanne W. Waweru
-
22

Ummm, what exactly is this alabastron kenya thing? Anyone know?

Over the last couple of weeks, this alabastron name has been flying all around me –left, right and center. And yet I still have no clue what it’s all about. And so do many other women around me –my friends, relatives, colleagues etc.

One of my friends talks highly about it. She talks about it very passionately. But yet I still don’t get it. And neither do most of our other mutual friends.

Is it a bible study class? Is it a self-help course? Is it a support group-workshop? Is it a networking forum? Is it a retreat? Is it a movement? Is it a crusade? Is it for all women or is it exclusive to a certain group of women? Is it for working women? Is it for married women? Is it for mothers? Is it for women of a certain age group? Must you pay to attend it? Is it recommended that all women do alabastron?

Pray, just what exactly is this alabastron thing?

Now those who have had interaction with alabastron vow that you become a new woman after you attend the class/group/workshop/retreat/movement/bonding sessions (I don’t know what to refer to it as). That you look at life differently. That you see everything in a new perspective. That your whole life changes. That your persona feels refreshed. That you learn to deal with many ‘issues’.

That you become a better wife. That you become a better mother. That you become a better daughter, sister, friend, colleague etc.

And when I ask how, when I ask what exactly it is that is taught or shared in alabastron that makes you a better woman, I am told that I just need to attend the alabastron class/group/workshop/retreat/bonding/movement to ‘understand’ it.

See why I’ve still never gotten it? I’m yet to get someone who will break it down for me kinaga-ubaga. Someone to explain it to me as though I were a two year old.

Now, I have never attended an alabastron for two main reasons:

–          I have never been convinced enough to dig into my pocket and pay for something that I don’t quite understand.

–          I’m not one to attend self-help stuff.

PS: Anyone who knows me knows I’m an avid reader. I read lots of newspapers, magazines, journals and lots of novels (fiction novels), biographies, the Bible etc. Actually I’m always reading one thing or another. Even in traffic I read. But anyone who knows me knows I don’t do self-help books. Not by the longest shot. My whole essence has just never resonated well with self-help stuff. Hard as I try (and beleive me I  do try) I don’t get past the preface. And if I really really do because the person who has gifted me with such a book has insisted and I feel obliged to, I don’t get past page 2.

I prefer reading about personal experiences –ones that are exclusively written and not inserted or camouflaged in self-help books.

So my understanding about alabastron right now is that it’s a self-help kind of thing. And many of my friends (who don’t understand it) also think it’s a self-help thing too.

Maybe I’m ignorant. Maybe someone hasn’t explained it to me well. Maybe I’m biased because of my attitude towards anything self-help. But that’s just me.

What I know though is that with alabastron –either you get it or you don’t. The ones who have gone through it are all praise for it (I’m still yet to understand why). And the ones who don’t get it (and we’re many) are yet to be convinced it’s worth spending anything -either money or time on it.

Oh well. *sighs heavily*

Image: Granitetheatre

Ouch!!!!!!!!! That’s my Nipple!

By
Maryanne W. Waweru
-
6

Ouch!!!!!!!!!! That is the reaction I’ve found myself repeatedly chanting over the last couple of weeks.

And this happens when I’m nursing Kitty when suddenly, I feel this searing pain tear through my entire body –when he bites my nipple HARD. Ouch!!!!

My ouch! screams are usually accompanied by the knee-jerk reaction of quickly withdrawing the boobie from his mouth and then looking down at him, wondering what possibly could be the problem with him.

And when I look down at him, my eyes already getting wet on account of the pain, he in turn looks up at me and we do the macho-fighting thing. Then, to my horror, I usually watch as in slow-motion, his face breaks into a sly toothless pink grin. Possibly a sign of victory. Crafty little baby!

I’ve noticed he usually bites me when he’s already full and is now getting bored. Sometimes his boredom catches me unaware and this is when the pain is most searing. The pain that I usually feel is somewhat similar to the one that one gets when they hit their little toe against the sofa, stool or table. The one that makes you jump up and down like a bunny rabbit. A very intense pain which thankfully, lasts for just a few minutes.

Kitty doesn’t even have any teeth, but yet his bite makes me wonder what his gums are made of. Steel?

So now I’m wondering how it will be like when he gets teeth, because I know he’s teething right now, perhaps more reason why he’s taking his biting activity a notch higher. Gosh, I’m literally shivering at that thought. Because I do intend to continue nursing him for as long as it will take.

Mama Tasha advices me that when he bites, I should reprimand him a ka-polite one, so that he’ll get the message that nipple biting is not allowed. I have always attempted to do so, but each time I try to, I find myself running my fingers through his scanty un-even hair, papasaring him the way you papasa a cat (I forget the English word for papasa). Then I touch his face and pull at his cheeks a little bit and tell him what a cute little boy he is as he looks up at me and chuckles with the sweetest toothless-pink-gums you ever saw.

Aaaaawwwwww, now how am I expected to reprimand such a doll?

Lord, My Woman is Talking!

By
Maryanne W. Waweru
-
7

Is this woman you?

Well, I came across this poem and I have kept reading and re-reading it coz it’s quite an interesting one. Interesting because I don’t know why….maybe after you read it you’ll know why it’s somewhat interesting to every woman. It’s a poem that I definately had to share with you. Here, have a read:

Lord, my woman is talking
Give me four ears to hear her…

Lord my woman is talking and speaking
Give me six ears to listen to her…

Lord my woman is talking and speaking and saying things
Give me eight ears to understand her…

Give me more ears Lord.
She is saying this and that, that and this…
That I this and that she that.
Blah, blah, blah, my woman’s bleating.

Lord, she is saying that in 2004, January 4th, in the morning, at 9:30, I…
Lord, how does the morn of early 2004 matter today?
She is saying that I don’t listen, never give her an ear…
Lord, add me ears I share with my woman in coming years!

Lord, my woman is speaking in tongues
About hair and love, pink and lollipop, black and forest, ooh and aah;
My woman, she says Tina is a bitch and Ali is a bitch and I bitch and…
Oh Lord, more ears please: my woman is bitching!

Lord lend me ten, twenty, thirty, hundred ears
(or cut off my woman’s tongues)
Quickly M’Lord, because my woman just called to say…

We need to TALK!

© OLUOCH-MADIANG’  ( http://madiang.wordpress.com/ ).

See why me thinks it’s an interesting read? Particularly the part that says: “Lord, she is saying that in 2004, January 4th, in the morning, at 9:30, I…”

Hmmmm…, I think that is so on-point! #speakingformyselfwhohasasuperphotogenicmemory

 

 

 

 

Naturally, the poem has been authored by a man. I wonder, does this man capture a common trait of we women, or is he just exaggerating how we converse with our men? Because the way he has put it, it appears as though some women can literally talk their men to their graves? Wooiii!

In Memory of Babies Gone Too Soon -Sharing Contacts

By
Maryanne W. Waweru
-
0

This is a follow up post to one I had done three weeks ago, which you can read on this link http://bit.ly/paEEHf

The feedback I got from the post -through the phone, SMS’s, emails and in the comments section were plenty, almost everyone saying they know of women who have undergone such losses. Some ladies shared their personal stories of loss and I salute them for their courage and bravery, because I know that they helped many readers just by doing so.

Most of the time, friends and families are always there to provide the much needed help and support to a woman or couple going through such difficult moments, but sometimes more specialised help might be necessary, and this can be in the form of counselling.

So today I would like to share the contacts of a professional counsellor, just incase you feel the need to follow-up the issue at a professional level, have questions you would like answered, or if you would like to refer someone and/or their family.

Below is the note from a counsellor who was kind enough to allow Mummy Tales to share her contacts through this blog.

“My name is Anita Awuor and I’m a professional Counseling Psychologist.  It is hard to lose a child at any age, whether the child is in-vitro or when the child is older. I have spoken to parents who have lost their little ones at both stages. And it cannot be denied that the pain is there.

Personally, I have lost two babies, each loss coming with with many questions, very few answers and a whole lot of tears. My babies were 12 weeks in-vitro, and I felt each loss acutely. But what I know is that the pain lessens. The sadness lessens, but the sense of loss still remains. And yet like all lossess in life, you will overcome it. Though it may not seem like it at the begining but it is possible.

If you have any questions or issues you would like me to address, you can contact me on amawuor@gmail.com “

Regards,

Anita.

image: dreamstime.com

Are Such Type of Friends Really Worth it?

By
Maryanne W. Waweru
-
14

This morning, a good buddy of mine asked me and a few other friends a question that is always on many a woman’s mind.

She said that she’s giving up on some friendships, that she thinks she tries too hard with some friends yet they just don’t care.  Are some friendships really worth it, she wondered.

So I’ve asked around our mutual friends and the responses are quite interesting. We do have women friends in our lives who don’t add any value to us at all, and they include the following:

–          Friends who call you to download and vent their different issues then hang up leaving you totally drained. Meanwhile, they never even bother to ask how you’re doing yourself. It’s all about them, them, and more them.

–          The kind of friends who keep complaining and finding fault in everything –their work, their family, their relationships… and it somehow feels like it’s your duty to comfort them.

–          The kind who when visiting you, will not move an inch from the couch to get themselves a drink from the kitchen (yet they know they are free to do so) or rise up to pour themselves a drink, all the while expecting you to serve them and be at their beck and call.

–          The kind of friend who you think you are close with, and so you invite her to your wedding but who doesn’t show up and you never hear from them. Then you call them up about a month later –fearful that maybe something happened to her, only for her to tell you of how guilty she’s been feeling and can’t face you –guilty because she didn’t come to your wedding because of some reason that does not even sound credible to herself.

–          Friends who when visiting you, you feel obligated to go out of your way to entertain them lest they get bored. You do everything possible to make them happy, even if it means assembling all your kids and telling them to break into song just to entertain the visitor.

–          Friends who call you just to brag about their kid’s birthday bash which they didn’t invite you or your kids to. Then post the photos on their facebook account and tag you in this photo album.

–          Friends whose kids always come to your place for sleep-overs but when yours ask to go to their place, they give all sorts of excuses –that their housegirl is on leave, that it’s their turn to host chama that weekend, that they’re replacing all their furniture that weekend etcetera etcetera… Three years on they’re still giving excuses and three years on their kids have slept over at your place numerous times.

–          Friends who come to your house and act as though they are much better off than you. They don’t hesitate to remind you that their children go to the most upmarket schools where ‘so-and-so’s child is also a pupil there too (a celebrity parent).

–          Friends who search for you endlessly –calling you, SMS’ing you, skyping and facebooking you – just to let you know that their kids are going to South Africa for holiday camp.

–          The kind of friends who don’t understand when you have to leave ‘the coffee with the girls’ early or can’t be out late (like you used to before) because you have to go home to be with your kid, or have to miss the Sunday afternoon ‘polite nyam chom/easy drinks plot’ because auntie has the day off and you have to hang out with the kids.

–          Friends whom you’re having coffee or a drink with and when you have to leave because your husband has arrived and is downstairs waiting to pick you -they roll their eyes and jokingly say “Nowadays you’ve changed so much since you got married…that siku hizi unaringa sana…” (but after a while you notice that they’ve stopped saying it jokingly).

–          Friends who never forget to mention that their living room furniture set was purchased from Odds & Ends while casting glances at your set that was obviously made by Njoroge whose furniture shop is located along the dusty path of Gacharage road.

–          Friends who talk about how they do their hair at that upmarket salon and they share the same hair stylist with Millie Odhiambo, Martha Karua or Rachel Shebesh.

–          Friends who you have to book an appointment three months in advance just to visit them. One of my pals has actually told me that she has a friend who has a daily guest list at the gate and if you’re not on it on that day then the watchman won’t open the gate for you. Even if you produce your identity card to show that you’re a relative of hers, the watchman still won’t open for you because you’re not on the list.

–          And the list goes on….

But you know what the bottom line is? Friendship need not be a struggle. You need to have friends whom you don’t feel you owe anything to. Friends with whom you are comfortable around. Friends who don’t make you feel like they’re in competition with you. Friends who if they visited you and after all stories have been beat there develops that ka-silent moment (the shetani amepita moment) you don’t feel that you are the one who has to suddenly start a conversation and pressured to say something –however irrelevant or idiotic it is. Friends who drain you and make you leave you feeling oh so tired. *Yawn*

© Photographer: Devonyu | Agency: Dreamstime.com

We need to embrace those whom we have sincere times together, friends who understand that some inevitable changes have to happen when one’s status changes -that ideas change, priorities change, time becomes limited…and that it has nothing to do with intentionally alienating them from your life, we need the kind of friends who we can call in the middle of the night, the ones who you can go to their house with a running tummy and sit on their toilet bowls and sigh with relief as you go about your business loudly….

PS: A big thanks to my lady pals for inspiring this blog post and for allowing me to quote you word for word. You know yourselves. Cheers mamas.

So what kinds of friends are in your life and who you think you are better off without?

Mama Zoé: Most Women Fight their Mothers Only to Become their Mothers

By
Maryanne W. Waweru
-
3
Me and my daughter Zoe.

Today Mummy Tales has a guest writer; Mama Zoé, a new mum who shares her experience -wondering what kind of mum she will be to her four-month old daugher Zoé. Will she raise Zoé just like her own mother raised her? Read on… 

“Mama Kitty and I always meet and share our motherhood experiences every other day, we being new moms and trying to figure out our way around this mommyhood world. Her son is just a month and a half older than my daughter Zoe. Let me begin by saying that Maryanne’s blog has had me in stitches on days that I thought I was insane (read confused on what to do with a newborn). It was nice to read the experiences of one who recently went ahead of me. Learn from her hard earned trials and errors. But most importantly, know that there was someone else out there who I knew who knew what I was going through.

Mama Kitty holding baby Zoe when she came over fora visit 🙂

I want to write about how things have changed today –in comparison with how we were raised those days. Reflecting back on my younger days -how we were raised and kids and how we are raising our own kids today -there is a lot to be pondered over. Times have really changed! For example, when I was young:

  • Mums could leave their children with younger siblings, some as young as 10 years old and be away from the house for hours –having gone to the market or to a matanga (for God was in charge)
  • We’d get a good beating (not spanking) for any small ‘mistake’ such as eating at the neighbors’ place, playing with soil, losing your cardigan or not returning the exact change after being sent to the shop
  • Your friend or neighbor’s mum was also your mum, and punishment from her was normal. Further, a beating from her was expected to end with gratitude.
  • Our Auntie’s (housegirls) had powers equal to mummy (especially when it came to meting out punishments)
  • Kids had absolutely no say around adults. It was bad manners to speak around adults.
  • Sometimes you were beaten for being the eldest and watching any wrong doing happen (for you are supposed to be your brothers’ keeper).
  • Kids were weaned as soon as they started suffering from insomnia

My mum, God rest her soul in peace – subscribed to some of the practices above. I still think she was the best mother I could ever have. If I was to choose, I’d definitely pick her over and over again. My mum did have some great qualities that I believe will influence the mother that I am today and will become in the future.

My daughter Zoe.

You know what they say, that “we are subjects of our past”.  If the saying is true, then I wonder what kind of a mother I am, or will be. With how we are raising our children, I wonder how fairly or harshly they will judge us when their time comes. But just in case I exhibit some of the above behaviours (some currently classified as child abuse) when raising my absolutely loved Zoé, I hope she will understand where I’ll be coming from.

For because they say (they again) that: most women fight their mothers, only to become their mothers.”

Saying a Prayer for our Relatives Abroad

By
Maryanne W. Waweru
-
1

I’m going through today’s newspapers and I’ve just come across an article that has made me smile with gratitude. It’s generated a deep warmth in me, from the deepermost part of my heart.

Sometime late last year, I read an article about this bright boy from Baringo called Edwin Chebon who had won a university scholarship to the Philippines.  Good news that was. But his stay at the Philippines turned out to be a nightmare.

A nightmare because his sponsors did not fulfill their pledge of ensuring that he completed his university studies there –and Chebon ended up being thrown out of campus. In no time, the 21 year old was homeless and kept moving from place to place, at the mercy of well wishers who would offer him food and accommodation. Imagine that experience of a rural boy straight from Kenya and into a foreign country where he knew no one.

The writer of the article described how Chebon’s dad broke down in tears as he spoke about his son. You can only imagine the kind of pain that would drive a grown man to tears, especially infront of other people. Chebon’s mother was crying uncontrollably. And so was his grandmother. Thank God I’m not the one who covered this story because I’m sure I would have been struggling to control my emotions.

So because I know the agony of having a relative in a far away land, and not knowing whether they are well or not. Not knowing how they are fairing. Not knowing whether they will ever come back home. Not knowing whether they will come back dead or alive. Always jumping up when the phone rings, hoping it’s them, longing to hear their voice and they reassuring you that they are well. Always cringing in fear when the phone rings and it’s a non-Kenyan number, dreading that it might bear bad news about them. Praying for them each day for God’s protection in their lives. Watching family members not talk about the issue, but yet badly wanting to talk about it. Drying their tears when they decide to talk about it, as you contain your tears too. Talking about this person during family gatherings and looking at family albums, cherished memories and having a good time. Calling them up at such times and passing the phone round for all family members to have a chance to speak to them ‘for just a minute’. Longing for their status updates on facebook. Savoring the pictures they post on their profiles, or the albums they create on facebook. Staring at these photos all day and remembering the good old days. Talking to them on chat or skype. Remembering the days of yore.

Many of us have family members abroad. Sadly though, the recent cases of people (especially women) being killed by their spouses have been on the rise, and these have been most chilling. Cases of parents killing their children. What is happening to our brothers and sisters abroad, we keep asking each other. All sorts of theories about this have been forthcoming. But what remains a constant is that we need to pray for our family members and friends who are abroad.

It’s not all gloomy though, for there are our brothers and sisters abroad who are bringing pride to their families and to our country with their achievements. We celebrate them all.

Anyway back to the Edwin Chebon story, I have smiled with delight when I read that the boy is back home. Back home to the warmth of his parents. I can only imagine the agony that his parents have gone through for the last 10 months or so. And even though Edwin says he regrets the time he wasted in Philippines, regretting that he has returned without the coveted degree he had hoped he would get, I wish I could tell him that his safe return home is more important than anything else in the world. Nothing can ever compare to having your child back home with you, especially having undergone such a traumatic experience in a foreign land. Just ask his parents.

And I wish all those people abroad who keep struggling with the decision of whether to come back home or not, ashamed that they have nothing to show for all the years spent abroad, scared of what people will say, regretful that they haven’t accomplished much in the years they have been away – I wish they knew that all that doesn’t really matter. Coming back home is more important than people’s opinions, or material achievements. So just come back home. It will be alright.

Edwin Chebon’s story is in today’s edition of The Standard Newspaper, page 18, where he talks about his experiences in the Philippines and what exactly happened to his dreams of higher education. You can read it here http://bit.ly/sR8XDM

Miscarriages and Stillbirths in Kenya: In Memory of Babies Gone Too Soon

By
Maryanne W. Waweru
-
14
respectful maternity care Kenya

Today’s blog post is a very difficult one to write.

I must confess that when I was young, I always assumed that getting pregnant and carrying a baby to term, then delivering and raising the child to become a productive adult –in that sequence – were automatic. That if you wanted to become a mother, you just made the decision to and it would happen. Like a button you switched on and voila, you were pregnant and nine months later, you were holding your bouncing baby boy or girl.

But over the last couple of years, I have come to the sad realization that I had been most naïve in my thinking. Perhaps the most naïve I have ever been all my life. So because I have come to learn of so many women -close friends, relatives, colleagues, friends’ of friends and other women who have gone through the loss of a child.

They have had miscarriages, ectopic pregnancies, still births, have lost their babies during childbirth, or their babies have died within hours, days or months of being born. I have become aware of many such incidents especially in the last three or so years. Perhaps because I am in my early thirties and this is the time when just like I, most of my peers are now settling down and starting their own families.

My relatives and close friends who have lost their little ones –either in the womb or in infancy have been most painful for me. I have held these women close. I have cried with these women. I have cried for them. Unspoken words have been uttered during such moments. I have silently mourned with these ladies.

Most of the time, if not all the time, I didn’t know what to say.

And each time, I questioned God over and over again, asking him ‘why?’

I have come to know that many other women have gone through this –gone through the loss of their little angel.

I have also come to know that such a loss is not something that’s talked about much.

How it happens is that most of the time, the lady experiencing the loss will not share the news with many people. Maybe with just family and a friend or two. But yet in no time, her network of friends, colleagues and relatives will be in the know, with the information having been relayed though the phone, email, coffee with the gals, at a wedding, during office tea or lunch breaks, at family gatherings, during the chama meeting….. The loss is usually discussed in hushed tones, with people talking about it with forlorn faces. Most conversations often end with “woiye that’s so sad”.

I have also come to know that most of the time, friends and relatives are often concerned and want to help, but yet they don’t know how to go about it. They don’t know where to start. They don’t know what to say. They don’t know how to go about comforting them. Even though you badly want them to know that you are hurting with them, that you are there for them.

Now, the month of October is dedicated to remembering all those cherished little angels who went too soon. The ones we never got to hold in our arms. The ones who we held in our arms but are no longer with us. The ones who went to be with the Lord already. Actually, I didn’t know about October being the pregnancy and infant loss awareness month, until my friend Mama Azizi brought it to my attention.

Incase you are like me and didn’t know, pregnancy and infant loss awareness month is dedicated to the memory of our little babies, our little angels who are not with us today. Of honoring the babies that were never born into this world, or who were here for a short time. It is dedicated to those who are suffering or know someone who has suffered a miscarriage, an ectopic pregnancy, a still birth or lost thier infant. To both mothers and fathers who live with the memories of their departed little angels.

While Mama Azizi and I were discussing the issue, she told me something that got me really reflecting. She said:

“….this is something that many people don’t talk about, and don’t realize how it greatly impacts on the grieving woman or even the entire family. In Africa, we just tell them not to worry, that you are young and you will have more children. But really, is it that easy to forget?”

I couldn’t have said it better.

So my blog this week is dedicated to creating awareness on this issue.

If you have a story you wish to share, and which you think will help other women, men or families going through the same thing, feel free to leave a message in the comments section of this post. If you wish to let other people know how they can help, what to say or how they can be there for their friends, relatives or colleagues who are going through something like this, you can leave a message too. If you have an inspirational quote or a Bible verse that got you through such difficult moments, you can share it here. If you have any words of encouragement to women going through such an episode, women who are wondering how to move on, how to overcome the pain, how to start living again, you can share here. If you know of any support group in Kenya that helps people going through this, you can share the information below. If you are a professional and have some advice, leave a message below. If you have any questions to ask, or if you have any positive comments, feel free to share in the comments section below. God bless you.

Mummy Tales is a platform dedicated to empowering its readers on different aspects of womanhood and motherhood. Read more motherhood experiences of Kenyan moms here. Connect with Mummy Tales on: FACEBOOK l YOU TUBE l INSTAGRAM l TWITTER

Before I Was a Mum…

By
Maryanne W. Waweru
-
3

My good friend Mama Zoe shared this poem with me a few days ago, and I’ve been reading and re-reading it over again, each time getting amazed at how on-point it is.

Before I was a Mum
I cleaned my house each day.
I never tripped over toys or forgot words to a lullaby.
I didn’t worry whether or not my plants were poisonous.
I never thought about immunizations.

Before I was a Mum
I slept as late as I wanted and never worried about how late I got into bed.
I brushed my hair and my teeth everyday.
I made and ate hot meals. I had unstained clothing.

Before I was a Mum
I had never been puked on. Pooped on.
Spit on. Chewed on. Or peed on.
I had complete control of my mind and my thoughts.
I slept all night.

Before I was a Mum
I never held down a screaming child so that doctors could do tests.
Or give shots.

I never looked into teary eyes and cried.
I never got gloriously happy over a simple grin.
I never sat up late hours at night watching a baby sleep.

Before I was a Mum
I never held a sleeping baby just because I didn’t want to put it down.
I never felt my heart break into a million pieces when I couldn’t stop the hurt.
I never knew that something so small could affect my life so much.
I never knew that I could love someone so much.
I never knew I would love being a Mum.

Before I was a Mum
I didn’t know the feeling of having my heart outside my body.
I didn’t know how special it could feel to feed a hungry baby.
I didn’t know that bond between a mother and her child.
I didn’t know that something so small could make me feel so important and happy.

Before I was a Mum
I had never gotten up in the middle of the night every 10 minutes to make sure all was okay.
I had never known the warmth. The joy. The love. The heartache. The wonderment.
Or the satisfaction of being a Mum.
I didn’t know I was capable of feeling so much, before I was a Mum.
– Author Unknown

Each time I read this poem, it makes me smile deeply, from the innermost bit of my heart. And it especially brings back fond memories of my good ol’ days (mkondo wa mwisho included). I wonder what mom wrote it because unfortunately, the poem is not credited and so the author remains unknown. But wherever she is, I wonder if she knows how many other mums have read it and how moved they have been by the emotions she jotted down.

No doubt she captures the essence of what every mother feels and that’s why I thought to share it with all the Mummy Tales readers. It’s such a beautiful poem, isn’t it?

image: dreamstime.com

Of Ultrasounds and Why I Had to Have a CS

By
Maryanne W. Waweru
-
2

Yesterday I was re-organizing my room when I came across some stuff that made my heart flutter all over. I came across the ultrasounds I had when Kitty was in my womb. I have kept them all neatly in an envelope, and since I hadn’t expected to come across them yesterday as I was reorganizing my stuff, seeing them again made me cry a little bit. But not cry as in ‘cry’ like ‘cry’, but cry as in like getting wet eyes and allowing the tears to freely fall down my cheeks.

I shed those tears of happiness remembering the moments I had when undertaking those ultrasounds. I had ultrasounds at week 8, week 9, week 20, and at week 36.

The one at week 8 was mainly to check for the fetal heartbeat. But the place I went to was to a radiologist –who I understand did not have the upgraded equipment for proper abdominal ultrasounds. Explains why he didn’t detect a heartbeat.

So my gynaecologist advised me to go for another ultrasound the following week. And for sure the place he referred me to this time had some serious ‘state-of-the-art’ ultrasound machines – I don’t know what they are called. Listening to kitty’s heartbeat for the first time was an experience I’ll never forget. It served as more than a confirmation that he was there – alive and well (though the image of Kitty then looked more like a tadpole than anything else). It confirmed that I was in the process of becoming a mother. Memorable too because the experience of listening to that first heartbeat together with the hubby was just something of an invaluable experience.

Then at week 20 I had another ultrasound, which I did for two main reasons: First, to check if the baby was developing normally –they check among others; the head, the heart, the limbs, the kidney and the position of the placenta. I understand if there were any abnormalities, then they would have been detected at this stage, and any necessary interventions undertaken then.

The second reason was naturally, we wanted to know the sex of the baby. Curiosity was more like it. Now, many parents say they weren’t able to tell the sex of the baby during an ultrasound because the baby’s position was not cooperative enough. But this did not happen in our case, for at first glance, the doctor was 150% sure of the baby’s sex. He didn’t need two seconds to check and re-check and check again. And when he told the hubby and I to look at the screen and pointed to whatever it is he was looking at to determine the sex, there was no doubt that it was a little boy. We didn’t need to check and re-check and check again. The evidence was right there staring in our faces. Literally.

But knowing I was carrying a boy was no surprise for me because judging by the amount of food I had been consuming right from the first days of my pregnancy (especially ugali), I instinctively knew it was a boy. Miss Babes used to describe me as ‘That chic who is always eating one thing or another’.

The fourth time I went for an ultrasound was at week 36. I wanted this ultrasound done because I needed to know the weight of my baby. I needed to know the weight so that I could plan for his birth –specifically to know if I would need a caesarean section (CS). Now, I was huge. Like really HUGE. And my body frame is not all that big, so I was quite a spectacle. At month 7, people would stop me along the street and tell me (with great concern) that I’m due any moment and therefore I shouldn’t be walking around ovyo ovyo and that if I wanted, they can take me to hospital at that very moment. And I used to go like ‘dude, I have 2 more months to go!’

So by week 36, I was practically bulging out of myself. And I needed to know if I would have the CS because seeing as I wear shoe size 3.5, the odds were that I would have a CS. So I just wanted to be clear and besides, I didn’t want to have to go through an arduous labor before eventually undergoing an emergency CS. So the ultrasound we took week revealed that the baby was 3.2 kg’s. Considering that the last weeks of pregnancy when the baby is all formed and is only adding weight, I wondered how much more weight the baby would put on by the time he was due. And yet I had four weeks to go.

Then when I took the pelvic exam, it revealed that that the largest size of baby I could push was 2.5kg. Inevitably, it was going to be a CS. At least it gave us enough time to prepare and pick the day of Kitty’s birth. I picked the Easter holiday, and specifically Good Friday, 22nd April. I wanted my baby to grow up to become a good Christian, and what better way than to start off on a Christian holiday? No kidding.

Anyway Kitty didn’t come on Good Friday as planned. My waters broke five days before that, in week 38. And he came out 3.7 kgs. If I had reached week 40, I wonder how big he would’ve been.

Now back to the ultrasounds that got me all teary yesterday. Looking at them from the time he was a tadpole, to the time he had visible human-like features in week 36, to where he is now –kicking his legs in the air with supersonic speed and nibbling on his toes and yapping like a parrot, I couldn’t help but marvel at how far we’ve come. I look at Kitty now and can only say “Kweli ya Mungu ni mengi”.

1...676869...72Page 68 of 72

Advertisement

POPULAR POSTS

IN THE NEWS

POPULAR CATEGORIES

© Copyright 2015|Powered By Diwecs Business Solutions
error: Not Allowed