Tuesday, April 7, 2026
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Back Home with Loads of Luggage

By
Maryanne W. Waweru
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9

When I was young, I used to see women, mainly mothers carrying many bags in their hands and I used to wonder –what’s wrong with them? When returning home from work in the evening, you would see many mothers (mathe’s) walking slowly, heavily weighed by all sorts of paraphernalia in their hands and on their heads.

Back then, our parents taught us to help out any adult you see in such a situation. The days when children were disciplined and courteous and respectful. So the disciplined, courteous and respectful kids that we were used to quickly rush to whichever mother it was and help them with their bags and baskets as we escorted them home. And while doing so, they would always ask us how school was and what number we were last term (why did EVERY parent used to ask that?). Then we would proceed to enter into their houses with them as though we were their kids. Sometimes we would even help them unpack stuff, such as putting milk in the fridge, bread in the kabati, and fruits in a small basket hapo juu ya fridge. The good thing is that these mothers would often ‘reward’ us with something small for our good deed. It could be with a banana, an orange, a mango, a ball gum or a goody-goody. Those were the days when any mum was your mum, and your mum was everyone else’s mum. Good days those were. Anyway, I always wondered why mathe’s would always have so many bags with them when heading home, as though they were a mandatory accessory. I always used to think of them as ‘those old women’ with so much luggage. In my child’s mind, I used to see them as people who never had a life because all they did was carry boring luggage day in day out. Like their life was all about paperbags and baskets. Nothing exciting in their lives, I thought.

But over the last couple of weeks since I resumed work, reality is slowly checking in as I begin to realize that I am now ‘that mathe’. Nowadays, I get home with my arms full of stuff. A handbag, a laptop, groceries, newspapers, a flask, lunchbox, breast pump paraphernalia, expressed milk, fruits, house stuff I needed to top up from the supermarket, drycleaned laundry…..it’s always one thing or the other. I always have paperbags and paperpags of stuff. If you see me enter the house in the evening, you would think I have been away on a three week safari. Now, let’s not even talk about the days when I have been out with Kitty. His stuff alone would fill a whole suitcase!

Oh dear, I’m I now ‘that mathe’? Have I now become that woman who doesn’t seem to have a life because all I do is carry boring luggage day in day out? Like my life is all about paperbags and baskets? Thank God we don’t have kids around the apartment I stay because I suspect that’s what they would be thinking of me. Reminds me of that methali that goes something like the firewood atop the ceiling in the kitchen laughing at the firewood that is already in the fire. It doesn’t know that it will soon be lighting the fire too. If only I knew I would be the firewood lighting the fire someday.

Young woman with shopping bags (4)
Photo: Dreamstime.com

Meanwhile, my buddy Miss Babes tells me the same reality sank in four years ago when she started her family. She’s ‘advising’ me to get used to it – that it will become part of my normal life as a mother. She tells me that her – she usually has no less than 7 bags and paperbags everyday when going home. And that the hardest part is when she is in the matatu where balancing them all is always a tricky act. So she usually places two of them on her laps, two under her armpits, two on the floor between her legs, and finally her handbag on her chest. Then she has to live through the side eye darts given to her by the young lady seated next to her carrying a handbag the size of a clutch bag, struggling to unsuccessfully push herself away from Miss Babes and her ‘issues’. I guess when the pretty young thing alights and meets with her friends, she tells them she has just lived through hell in the mathree seating next to ‘this mathee’ with a hundered and one paperbags. Then she says msschhheeeew as they all chorus:

“Aki those mathee’s si they’re so boring! Why can’t they just shop over the weekend or buy their own cars’? Mssschhhheeeww!” You see – these are the firewoods I was talking about.

So as I think of my life with my paperbags now, I have a good laugh because these are the little things that continue making my life today all the more interesting. Life I tell you!

The weight gain? I love it!

By
Maryanne W. Waweru
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0

If there is anything I love hearing when I take Kitty for his jabs is that he’s gained weight. I usually do a couple of mental somersaults and hip hip horrays whenever I hear this good news.

Really, I derive such pleasure and satisfaction when I hear he’s added the recommended grams (the nurse told me that a baby Kitty’s age should add between 700g – 1kg each month). It always makes me feel like I’m doing something really great, greater than even being president of the world.

Whenever I am taking him to the clinic, I always hold my breath, hoping the nurse won’t tell me he’s below that graph thing they usually fill his particulars in. It’s called the ‘road to good health’ or something like that. Listening to the nurse tell me that Kitty has added weight and is within the recommended growth curve simply is music to my ears. I could listen to her all day as she says so. It makes me feel that I’m really doing something right, and I often pat myself heavily on my back. Makes me think my milk has superpowerfoam ingredients. And while I celebrate the good news, I always take a brief moment to empathize with my mum. And I’ll tell you why.

Thing is, I have always been on the smaller side of life. My frame is not all that big (okay it previously was, not now), and my mum tells me she really used to have a tough time with me when I was a kid. Each time she took me to the clinic, the news was always the same – I was underweight and below that graph thing. And trust me you didn’t want to be a mother with an underweight child in those days, because the nurses were not very kind. They would reprimand you, accusing you of not feeding your child well amongst many other not-so-nice things that would make a mother feel not-so-nice.

“Kwani hunyonyeishi mtoto? Wewe ni mama aina gani?” They would snarl at such a mum with a sneer on their face. Like this mum were engaging in the worst crime against humanity.

And my mum was one of the recipients of such, because if I used to add any weight, it was just a gram or two. But the interesting thing? She was a nurse herself so as far as having all the information about weight gain and babies? She knew it all. But hard as she tried to get me to add weight, it was a fruitless effort. She tells me that she used to be so frustrated as I was as featherweight as they come. I was simply a poor feeder. Even when I grew older, she does not recall me ever finishing my plate of food. That in primary school, I would be given a fried egg for breakfast, chew on it for 45 minutes then tell her that I was full after eating only half of it. I would then put the remaining half in the fridge, where I would return to eat it in the evening after school. Those were my normal eating behaviors. And that was just my weight. My height? That’s a different story altogether.

At birth, Kitty was 52cm and two weeks ago, he was 63.5cm. In three months he has added 11.5 cm. My mother continues to be very impressed by his height gain. She tells me that I used to add an average of 3cm in a year in the days I was supposed to be growing. I don’t disagree because last week I measured my height, and it stands at 150cm. My oh my! My 3 month old son is 63.5 cm and my thirty-something old self is 150cm. At this rate, won’t he be looking down at me when he’s 5 years old? But I’m not surprised because his father is 6 foot tall and me – I’m not even 5 feet! What was that again they say about opposites attracting each other?

Of Fever and Lack of Knowledge

By
admin
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1

When I tell you that motherhood has humbled me, you better believe me. Some of the things that I do, as well as some of the things that I was previously unaware of continue to amaze me. Some things that I thought are rather obvious clearly skip my mind in some instances.

For example, remember the other day I told you Kitty was unwell? This is how it went.

At around 8pm, it suddenly hit me that he’d been withdrawn all day, and had not been feeding well. The previous day, he’d had his cousins around, some very active 3-4 year olds and he’d stayed awake the whole afternoon looking at them in amazement and wondering who those loud noisy little people were, jumping on tables, rolling on the floor, screaming their lungs out, chasing after each other etc.

So the following day, he kept dozing off and I kept thinking it was because he was tired from the previous day’s happenings. Which I didn’t mind because it gave me the opportunity to doze off as I too was equally exhausted. And because of his elongated sleeping episodes, he fed less than usual.

At around 8pm when his father returned home from work, I told him that we’d basically been dozing all day long, and as I was telling him so, I listened to my words and that’s when it suddenly occurred to me that Kitty just might be sick. (That was a rather belated realization – now I know). The thought hit me like a thunderbolt and I started panicking. Then I felt his forehead. And almost fainted when I did so. My heart has never raced so fast and beat so loud. And I have never sweated that much. Whaaaaaat! I swear you could have fried an egg on his forehead. Three weeks later today, I still get goosepimples and shiver as I recall that moment.

I immediately went for the thermometer and when taking his temperature, I kept noting is rapid rise – 37, 37.1, 37.2, 37.3…..and because I was using a digital thermometer, I kept waiting for it to beep when the temperature had stabilized. But it wasn’t beeping. So we kept trying again and again all the time assuming we were not using the thermometer properly. And each time we tried, the figures kept rising. Now, the hubby and I didn’t know what a normal temperature was (don’t ask), though we knew it was either 36 or 37 degrees Celsius. So we decided to monitor him and see how it goes. That if it rose beyond normal (never mind we didn’t know what normal was), and if he continued not feeding well, we would take him to hospital. Meanwhile, I kept trying to feed him but he kept sleeping so I kept saying I would wait for him to wake up then take his temperature properly. Gosh, my ignorance!

But as I sat there monitoring him, my heart kept beating fast and I was so restless I could have peed on myself. So I decided to go online and google ‘infant normal temperature’. The results said that high temperature in infants under 3 months was bad. Very bad. Kitty was 11 weeks at the time. That anything above 37.5 degrees Celsius was not good. I temporarily stopped breathing at that juncture. (Why do civil servants like using that word ‘juncture’ by the way?)

With this new information, the hubby and I quickly put the thermometer under Kitty’s  armpit one more time then observed the recordings. 37.1, 37.2….37.6, 37.7, 37.8, 37.9…at that time I think I must have peed on myself a little because I was in a state I cannot describe. The last reading I saw on the thermometer was 38.2 before I withdrew it from his armpit because I did not want to see where it would reach.

So we immediately began a mad rush to the hospital. The time was midnight. But before we did, it being a cold, chilly July night, I decided to ensure Kitty was warm enough for the trip to the hospital. Don’t judge me please as you read the next sentence. I dressed him up warmly in socks, mittens, a hat, a vest, t-shirt, a romper, cardigan, then wrapped him up in a thick warm blanket. Yes, I’m shivering as I recall this. Warm enough, off we sped to the other side of town –to Muthaiga.

When we got to the hospital, there was lots of paperwork to be filled out. As I did so, Kitty though was safe, secure, warm and sleeping cozily in his father’s arms. When we entered the examining room, the nurse took his temperature then hesitated. Then took it again. It was at 38.9. She instructed me to remove his mittens, socks, sweater, blanket etc as she quickly inserted some tablet up Kitty’s behind. I didn’t know this could be done on an infant. The nurse asked as if we had given him a fever reliever before we left the house, and we replied in the negative. Never mind that we always have a fever reliever in the house. Why we didn’t use it I don’t know. Anyway he was seen by the doctor, who said he had a bad throat infection.

So there you go. Interestingly, everyone I tell that story says that at his age, and with that temperature, Kitty should have already have been convulsing. It’s mothers who tell me this though, that they too have been there before. First borns they tell me, teach their parents a lot. I guess experience is the best teacher.

So there you go. Lessons learnt from that episode, and stuff that many mothers have repeatedly told me since is that:

–          Observe your child keenly and any behavior that is out of his normal self should never be taken lightly.

–          Always have a thermometer nearby.

–          Always know what normal temperature is because the thermometer won’t help you if you don’t know what normal is.

–          If the temperature is high, dress the baby lightly and possibly give him a fever reliever before taking him to the hospital

–          You can also pat him with a damp warm (not cold) cloth or towel on his forehead, neck and back as this can reduce the fever

–           A high fever can lead to convulsions

–          Even infants are inserted medicines up their behind

–          If you know your child is very sick and needs immediate attention, you can skip the queue at the hospital as other mothers will understand (hopefully). (While at the hospital, a mother brought a child who was already convulsing and she was quickly ushered to the front of the queue).

But the most important lesson I learnt that day is that God has mercy on those who genuinely don’t know. Like me and the hubby. Sema ignorance of first-time parents!

17 African Myths and Superstitions on Motherhood

By
Maryanne W. Waweru
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4

Everyday, we come across lots of stories, rumors, fears, truths and mistruths about all aspects of motherhood. Some of them are rather ridiculous, some of them funny and some of them –well…I don’t know. Below is a list of some of the myths and superstitions I have heard about. Are they true or not? You tell me!

  1. Babies born at night will always stay awake at night.
  2. Children born on a Sunday will be protected from evil spirits all their life.
  3. A breastfeeding mother should never involve herself in an extramarital affair because if she does, her baby will grow thin then die.
  4. A breastfeeding mother should never be involved in a fight otherwise her child will die.
  5. A breastfeeding mum should never meet a man whose wife or child has just died, or else she or her child will die.
  6. A newborn girl should not be removed from the house before three days, and a baby boy not before four days, otherwise something bad will happen to them.
  7. Twins should never be shown a fresh grave otherwise they will die.
  8. If you cut a baby’s hair before he begins to talk, then he will stutter when he eventually starts talking.
  9. Cutting your baby’s nails before he is a year old will cause him to become a thief.
  10. Don’t cut a child’s nails until they are a year old, and when they are cut, they should be done by a healthy young man if the baby is a boy, or a healthy young woman if the baby is a girl. This way, they will enjoy robust health.
  11. Getting grandparents, village elders and anyone elderly to spit on your baby means the baby will be blessed and will prosper in life.
  12. When a child passes, take note of what subject his eyes will be drawn too and this will be his occupation (profession), when he grows up.
  13. Do not jump over (skip) children otherwise they will not grow. If you skip them, you have to reverse the skip.
  14. Keep children away from matchboxes or fires otherwise they will always wet their bed.
  15. Children should not be given chicken legs to eat otherwise they will never learn how to keep secrets.
  16. If you carry a baby on your back supporting him with a lesso, he will develop bowlegs.
  17. If you stand over a child, you soon begin sucking their blood (kunyonya damu).

So those are the ones I’ve heard of. Which other ones have you heard of? Do you believe them?

Now Read: 15 Widely Believed African Myths and Superstitions on Pregnancy

Now how do I dress this post-baby body?

By
Maryanne W. Waweru
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4

Like I told you earlier, I go back to work next week Monday.*Holding head in hands* But that’s not my major issue of concern today, for I think I have a bigger problem. I cannot find any clothes that can fit me. Yaani work clothes. The only fitting clothes in my wardrobe are my nightdresses, a few branded baggy t-shirts, baggy tracksuits pants and ofcourse, my maternity clothes (and in particular my favorite corduroy pants). I work for a very liberal and understanding employer but I think it will be quite disrespectful if I show up for work in any of the above attire. That will be akin to abuse of office privileges.

So why don’t I have clothes that can fit me? Because I have expanded. Naturally. It was expected but yawa, what will it take for me to get back to my pre-pregnancy size? Oh sorry, I guess I should be asking – will I ever get back to my pre-pregnancy size? You tell me. But miss babes already condemned me by warning me, while I was pregnant, that that will never happen.

Now, my major problem area is my mid section area. It is thick like a banana tree. The irony being that despite the thick mid-section, my tummy resembles a deflated tyre and is quite jelly. Grrrr. I must say that I was quite huge when I was pregnant. I am 4 11’, and I delivered a 3.7kg baby. This is how I looked at 7 months.

By the 9th month, there was no difference between my vertical and horizontal profiles. I looked like a small hippo. Now, how do I dress this my midsection? The main problem is to get pants that can fit me. Thing is, my height did not increase, but my width did. So if I get pants that fits me at the waist, the length is overflowing ,and if I trim them to an appropriate length, they end up looking like bermuda shorts. Or Sinbad’s trousers. So I’ve been shopping and shopping and shopping around, but I just cannot get pants that fit me. So at this particular moment, on a Friday, unless a miracle happens, I might just end up going to work on Monday in a nightdress. The flowered ones with three buttons at the front. Which are very good by the way for functionality purposes when you’re breastfeeding. I really love my nighties.

And then, let’s go to the upper body. Lets stop at the bosom area. I must say that in that department, I was blessed. In leaps and bounds that is. Now throw in pregnancy and breastfeeding. And the blessings multiplied in abundance. So now I have to look for tops that can comfortably accommodate my bosom, yet not look oversize. Because the ones that fit my bosom are the ones that are too big in all other areas, especially the hands and the shoulders, such that I look like I’m wearing a tight-oversized top (whatever that is). They end up looking like overalls because they are also quite too long for me. By the way why do people who wear overalls always have them in a size or two sizes big?

Haya, next – I didn’t know that my feet would remain expanded for this long. They enlarged when I was pregnant, but I thought they would bounce back once I’d downloaded. Now its three months later and they’re still not back to their original size. So the shoes that I used to wear to work are too tight. The only footwear that fits me right now are my slippers and socks. Geez, at this rate I’ll end up going to work in slippers.

So that’s where I’m at right now. I’m still scratching my head trying to figure out what exactly to do. The more I think about it, the more I fear that I’ll end up buying those ‘mathe’ looking clothes coz right now those are the ones I’m suspecting will fit me right. Ohhhh *shivering*, that’s a very terrifying thought because I certainly don’t want to look like a ‘mathe’, seeing as I’m only 21 years old *cough cough and wink wink*. I want clothes that will make me look young, but certainly not clothes that will make me look like I’m going to starr in a Nonini video.

Oh dear, now what will I do? Meanwhile, the clock is ticking and Monday will reach as I’m still sitting here on my couch asking myself what to do. Grrr!

Baby bag tales

By
Maryanne W. Waweru
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0

So three weeks after Kitty’s birth, he was due for an appointment with his paediatrician. And after doing the necessary preparations for his trip to the outdoors, I handed him over to his father, before swiftly grabbing my handbag and following my two men out of the house (I’m still yet to learn how to balance carrying Kitty and carrying a handbag at the same time. How do they do it?).

But a few steps out of the house, I suddenly stopped in my tracks, letting out a loud gasp. Was I walking out of the house as though I had no child? I had only carried my handbag, as though I were going for a coffee date with the girls (wossup mkondo wa mwisho gang, wanamaresh). Yep, no baby bag. What mother does that, I wondered, as it gradually dawned on me that I had joined the club of women who are to be seen with big baby bags on one hand and baby on the other.

So I told the hubby to give me a few minutes as I dashed back into the house. But once inside the house I momentarily became lost. What exactly goes into a baby bag? I didn’t quite know so I threw in what I could think of – a diaper, a nappy liner, an extra baby shawl and his hospital records (would you believe I had even left behind his records?).

Then came the next shocker – where was the bag itself? I had no baby bag. Geez, and you would have thought that I had nine months to prepare for this moment. But nooo, I had forgotten to buy the bag. How that had missed my mind I don’t know. I had shopped everything baby by week 36, but I had never thought of a baby bag. How now?
So what I did was to throw in these things into a paperbag. A Tusky’s shopping paperbag. Shame, shame, shame on me. I walked out of the house with my head bent low. Surely I could do better than a shopping paperbag yawa tho! So I vowed to buy a bag as soon as possible. And I did exactly that.

So on our next clinic visit three weeks later, thank God I had a nice baby bag. Not an exclusive bag that looks like a baby bag, but a big nice bag that does not typically look like a baby bag -if you know what I mean. Yaani the big bags that a woman can carry around even without a baby in tow. The bag is nice, to the extent that three weekends ago, I left the house and carried it along with me – minus the baby. And I shopped for some stuff and stashed them inside the baby bag. Don’t ask me what I was thinking, for the things I shopped for (groceries et al) ended up contaminating the baby bag. Contaminating in the sense that I cannot put baby things inside it anymore because baby things are special and shouldn’t be mixed with other paraphanelia –if you know what I mean.

So now I had to look for another baby bag for our next clinic appointment, which was last week Friday. I didn’t want to carry his stuff in a shopping paperbag again. Surely that’s embarrassing. I mean, how on earth do you adorn yourself with a nice handbag and then carry your baby’s things in a supermarket paperbag? Shame, shame, shame on me again. I don’t want to be those kinds of mothers who dress to the nines, yet their kids are in tatters. Not nice.

So I got us a new baby bag. And I looooooove it. It is designed in patchwork, whereby pieces of different kitenge fabrics of similar size have been sewn together to create a beautiful pattern. You can see the photo

. It has nice pockets inside, and is big enough to fit all baby needs.

Now, I must confess that I love patchwork to death. There is something about patchwork that makes me think that everything around me is nice and blissful. I don’t know if it’s the colors that just remind me of my childhood – where everything was nice and blissful, without any stress. When I carry my patchwork bag, I feel untouchable as I am usually on cloud nine. So I’m very happy to have a bag that makes me very happy. I’m sure Kitty is happy too.

Oh and by the way I’m slowly learning that a diaper, a nappy liner, an extra baby shawl and his hospital records are not enough for our baby trips outdoors. I have since added two more diapers, baby wipes, a romper, baby jelly, a mackintosh, a burping cloth, a pen, camera and notebook (a journalist never misses this). I don’t know if there is anything else I need to throw in, but if you think there is, you can let me know.

Coming up: On Wednesday, I’ll feature an interview with a mother of twins – how life has been since she got them – her joys, challenges, experiences etcetera etcetera. So stay tuned to this blog. Cheers.

Nairobi traffic, Nairobi’s ladies, matatu drivers….I’m missing you all….

By
Maryanne W. Waweru
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2

For the last 9 weeks I have not had much of a life outside of the house. I have been indoors bonding with Kitty, and it is only in the last week or so that I have been thinking about how I miss the familiarity of some things. Take note that I miss the familiarity of these things, and not that I miss them at all.

Top on the list are the following:

Do you know that I miss the Nairobi traffic cops? Yap, I miss seeing traffic cops and shaking my head in wonderment wondering whether they really ease the flow of traffic or make it worse. Why does it always seem that when the lights are working the traffic flow is slightly better as opposed to when the boys in blue are in command?

By the way, why do most traffic cops always have their cardigans on even in the sweltering heat? And it’s not like while wearing them they are sitting down under a tree. Nooo, they’re usually raising their arms up and down controlling traffic and occasionally running after the mischievous driver, all of which is physical activity and which I’m sure causes them to sweat. It really baffles me to see such an officer with a cardigan on, because I only imagine how hot and uncomfortable he must be. Not forgetting that they usually have their caps on, which no doubt makes them sweat all the more. But then again I am not a traffic cop so I cannot speculate much on that.

Since we’re talking police matters, I have always wondered one thing. I have never once in my life seen a pregnant policewoman. Not even one! Yet I know of very many people who are the sons and daughters of policewomen. Now, I keep asking myself where the pregnant police women are. And if they are there, do their uniforms – their trousers and shirts – come in mothercare design? Just wondering. Someone please help me understand this because it is something that continues to perplex me.

Back to the missings, I miss wondering why we Kenyans in matatu’s always stare down at people in private vehicles. After they finish sizing you up and down and determining your worth judging by the model and registration number of your car, they then begin stretching their necks trying to peep into every corner of your car – I don’t know hoping to see what. Even though most passengers are usually idle especially when in traffic, wouldn’t it be more constructive to read a book or a newspaper or something? Or maybe they can read their favorite blog during those moments *wink wink*.

And then, this will sound weird, but I do actually miss the craziness of a majority of matatu drivers. I mean, those people are special, and it is because of them that I always console myself that I am sane. The wayward thinking of many a matatu driver simply amazes me. Before I started driving, I used to hear stories of private car owners who would step out of their vehicles and shoot matatu drivers at point blank range. If my memory serves me right, there is one famed Kenyan professor who once did this. Other drivers carry whips (nyahunyos) under their seats and give matatu drivers a good whooping with them. I used to wonder what kind of rogue characters these are who perhaps had anger management issues. But nowadays, I happen to fall in the category of these rogue characters. Many are the times I have wished I had a nyahunyo with me where I would whip the madness out of some matatu drivers. But this is not to say that this madness is confined to matatu drivers. There are lots of drivers of personal cars who are just as crazy, but what I mean is that crazy matatu drivers outnumber, by a very significant margin crazy personal car drivers. These matatu drivers are in a league of their own.

(In totally unrelated news, matatu drivers have made me think of safari rally, so allow me to digress a little bit. I give a big kudos to news presenter Pauline Shegu-Mwanzia of KBC for participating in this year’s safari rally, and actually completing it to emerge among the top ten. Hongera dada!).

Moving on, I miss walking in Nairobi streets and observing we Nairobi ladies. Especially the Nairobi girls who dress against the weather – wearing skimpy little clothes when the weather is cold. They’d rather ‘freeze but shine’, they say. I wonder if this July will be the same as all others where their clothing codes will defy the weather.

Then I miss the color of their clothes, particularly yellow ones. Ever noticed that there is this distinct yellow colored outfits that are sold in Nairobi’s exhibition stalls? Yellow comes in different shades, but there is this particular yellow that is loved by the exhibition stall stockists. And these ladies just love matching their outfits – they wear a yellow blouse, a black figure belt, black pencil pants, yellow heels, a yellow hairband and a black handbag. The complete uniform! I don’t know whether this is part of the deal, but have you ever noticed that most of the ladies who dress like this are always chewing gum? And then they walk in groups strolling around town, as though they are in no hurry to go anywhere and are just perambulating idly.

Then there is another category of women – older women dressing as though they are in their teens competing with their daughters and nieces. Tight pants that can barely accommodate their over-bulged behinds and tops that hardly contain their falling potbellies. More often than not, such women always have a scaring amount of make up on them that is wrongly applied. I’m not a beauty expert but atleast I know when makeup looks bad.

Anyway, those are some of the things that I have been missing. Their familiarity that is. But all in all I love Nairobi and the little things that make it special. I wouldn’t want to be in any other town.

From Breast to Bottle: the Journey

By
Maryanne W. Waweru
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4

So after my start-up woes with expressing breast milk (I discovered the problem was the pump – thanks to the mothers who offered me advice), I became happy because I could now leave the house for a couple of hours. (You can read my tribulations about previously trying to express breastmilk on this link https://mummytales.com/baby/is-expressing-breastmilk-supposed-to-be-this-hard/ ) Now, staying with a lovely and cute baby such as Kitty is rewarding, but you must agree with me that staying confined in the house staring at the same walls day in day out for two months can take its toll on you. Sometimes you just need to get away from the house and its environs (the farthest I’ve been to since Kitty’s birth is the nearest kiosk).

You see with a newborn, you just cannot wake up one morning and leave the house. It needs some serious calculation, planning and strategy. And the first step to that is getting a good breast pump. That is if you, like I, are interested in exclusive breastfeeding. Thankfully, my sister-in-law lent me her electric breast pump as she is not currently using it. I tell you mothers, you are so much better off with an electric pump and so if you can invest in one, go for it by all means. Or if you have a good sister-in-law (mwaaaaaa mwarikhwa) or you have a good friend, they can lend you theirs. By the way I have come to realize that hii mambo ya pregnancy na motherhood ni kusaidiana – exchanging maternity clothes, pregnancy support belts, flat shoes, breast pumps etc. It is all harambee.

So the first time I expressed breastmilk, I did it happily and with a cheerful grin on my face, knowing it was my ticket to freedom for a couple of hours. I started thinking of meet-ups with the girls to catch up on the latest, trips to the beauty parlor (my nails look like Nebuchadnezzar’s), dinner and movie dates, as well as the occasional shopping sprees that can sometimes take hours. But the grin quickly faded away when I tried to feed Kitty. He would hear nothing of the bottle business.

When I put the bottle in his mouth, he gave it’s nipple a slight twirl with his tongue, then looked up and me, gave me some serious daggers, closed his eyes then slept in protest. When I tried waking him he would lazily open his eyes, again look at me very badly, then proceed to snooze – in protest again. Very frustrating. And that immediately sent me into panic mode. Not for one minute had I seriously thought that he might not like the bottle. I don’t know how that had missed my mind yet in retrospect that should have been the first thing on my mind. Clearly I had been consumed by my interests.

Now I was panicking. I’m due back at work next month, and here Kitty was pulling bottle tantrums on me. Pray, what would happen then?

So anyway, I figured I would preserve the milk until when he decided to wake up, then offer him the bottle again. No doubt he would at that time be hungry so he would take the milk in whatever means it was given to him.

So when he woke up, I offered the bottle to him. This time round he didn’t sleep, but he instead began letting out some loud yells. This kid sometimes shocks me. Just out of the blues he let out this scream that a passer-by would have thought he were being slaughtered or something. I tried to downplay the screams knowing that after a few yells, he would get tired. I calculated that hunger + tiredness = feeding. But I was wrong. Five minutes later, the little boy didn’t sound or appear tired or hungry enough, and if anything, he looked as though he were going from strength to strength. And ofcourse you know me -it really disheartens me seeing Kitty in such a state, so I quickly whipped out my tittie and offered it to him. Naturally the screams immediately died, and as he was feeding, I could have sworn I saw a sly grin of victory on his face.

That whole episode left me very fretful. Did that mean that I would never leave the house until he was a year old? Would I ever go to the salon for some ‘me’ time? Would I ever go back to work? Would I ever go for dates? This was gonna be a battle that I had to win. I had to strategize very carefully. Imagine strategizing how to win a battle against a 7 week old baby. Life is interesting I tell you.

So the following day, I expressed again, this time very determined that he would consume the milk. So what the clever me did was to tell my househelp (Auntie) to feed him. When she offered him the bottle, he refused. No surprises there. We both tried coaxing him, singing to him sweet lullabies, but he kept looking at us badly, and he once again slept in protest. But Auntie told me not to worry, that he would drink it when he was hungry. So when he woke up again, hungry this time, she offered the bottle to him. But the yells and kicks clearly meant he was still not in the mood for the bottle. I felt so much pity on him, thinking he was starving. But Auntie insisted that he would eventually get tired and feed. But my little boy had turned red and his face was all wet with tears, and I couldn’t bear to see him that way for another second. So I quickly took him and fed him nyonyo, calming him down and assuring him that I wouldn’t put him through that bottle-feeding trauma again. I had a lump stuck in my throat as I told him so.

Geez, this was not going to be easy. The more I thought about it, the more I reckoned that I would certainly not keep my promise to Kitty. Blackmail is good but not all the time. Surely he had to learn how to feed from the bottle. So I had to give it another try. So the following day, I expressed as usual. But I stared at the bottle all day long, each time breastfeeding him and each time swearing that the next feed was going to be the bottle. I did the staring and swearing business until the milk expired.

The next time we tried, Auntie told me to hush and not utter a sound, because when I do he knows nyonyo is around and he won’t take the bottle. When I hushed, he still refused to drink and Auntie told me it was because he could smell me and my milk (huh?). So she asked that I leave the room. I left, and after fifteen minutes of trying to feed him, she succeeded in getting him to drink 5ml. Only 5ml! But atleast it was better than nothing.

So anyway as days went by, I spent them agonizing on whether to give him the bottle again or not. And as the weather began changing, I figured I needed to get out of the house and buy him some cardigans. With the Nairobi traffic, that meant being away for about three hours. What if I left when I had over-pumped him with milk enough to sedate him for three hours? I decided that was what I would do. I had to get him the warm clothing. Better he starves for a few hours than he shivers in cold.

So on the d-day, I expressed some 125ml of milk ‘just in case’. Even if he decided to drink it, there was no way on earth he was gonna do more than 20ml. That was judging by the drama he had put me through. I left the house after I had breastfed him to full capacity.

Problem was every two minutes, I kept looking at my phone expecting a call from Auntie anytime. Never before in my life have I been so restless. Half an hour passed. No phone call. The further and further I got away from home, the more I panicked and wondered if I had made the right decision. An hour passed. No phone call from Auntie. An hour and a half passed. No SOS from Auntie. I then relaxed a little bit and went about shopping in the market. It was two and a half hours afterh I had left the house when the dreaded phone call arrived.

As I looked at the phone ringing, I didn’t want to answer the call in equal measure that I wanted to answer it. I was fearing the worst. I just didn’t want to take the call. I started shivering and sweating like crazy and after what seemed like eternity, I finally pressed the ‘receive’ button.

Auntie was quick and straight to the point.

“You better hurry back home because Kitty has finished all the milk you left.”

Say whaaaaaaaatttttttttttt????????

I asked Auntie to repeat many times what she had just told me. I didn’t even realize that I was shouting. They say that every market has a mad man (woman). That day all the shoppers saw the mad woman in the market. I suddenly dropped all the stuff I had not yet paid for and started making my way out of the market shouting: “Excuse me Excuse me schuss schuss me schuss schuss me…”

I hurried out of the market like a woman possessed, praying and hoping against hope that the traffic wasn’t gonna be bad. I used all the shortcuts I knew and when I got home, I was sweating like crazy. I burst into the house expecting to find an emaciated starving boy, but what I found was a very full boy sleeping whilst letting out the random fart. That’s how content he was. Gosh, this boy can really shock me sometimes!

Since then, I have left the house twice, and each time left milk in a feeding bottle. Auntie tells me that though he drinks the milk, it is never easy. He at first always refuses it and throws a tantrum and sleeps, but when he wakes up hungry and there is no nyonyo in sight, he ends up drinking it. Last Sunday I was out for two hours and when I returned, I was told he had completed the whole bottle in one feed. Now I’m abit more relaxed and I hope he’ll continue this way. I have to resume work sometime you know.

By the way, someone told me that I might have introduced him to the bottle too early, that if he continues with it he might end up rejecting the breast altogether. That apparently most newborns quickly realize that they don’t have to work nearly as hard to get milk from a bottle as they do from the breast. I don’t know if that’s a myth or if it’s fact. Is this true?

image: dreamstime.com

Is it two months already? How did that happen?

By
Maryanne W. Waweru
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2

Can you imagine Kitty is already two months old? I’m yet to believe it. *checking calendar for the nth time to re-confirm dates. Yep, it is two months*. Wow, how time flies! Wasn’t it just the other day the pregnancy test kit displayed two strips? Wasn’t it only last week when he was kicking my ribs and hiccuping in my womb? Wasn’t it just yesterday when he was an hour-old marvelous beauty to relatives and friends who had rushed to the hospital upon learning the good news? Wasn’t it just hours ago that I was struggling to get out my first breast milk?

Truly, these two months have passed by shwaaaaaaaaaaa!

Granted, the second month has been much easier than the first one. The first month was quite stressful for me. Being a first time mom, everything was just demanding and I wasn’t too sure if I was coping well or not. Funny because I thought I had fully prepared myself mentally, physically and psychologically for motherhood. But despite this, I donno what happened because those first days seemed to be a tad bit too overwhelming for me.

Perhaps one of the main reasons for this is because Kitty was colic. Many are the days both he and I would cry for hours on end. Sleep was something I could only imagine in my head, fantasize and wish for. And despite having the full support of the hubby, my househelp, relatives and friends, I still felt too overwhelmed. I was constantly worn out and felt like a robot, just going through the day routinely without having the time or energy to do anything outside of baby.

But come the second month, things got better as Kitty began settling to life outside the womb. His colic ended, his sleeping patterns became abit more established and we now both sleep well at night. Kitty also began latching on well to the breast (thus no cracked and sore nipples), and we were both happy. Life has really been good this month, no complaints at all. It is in this month that I’ve gotten to appreciate some of the things about motherhood, things that I wasn’t able to in the first month when things seemed pretty blue and when I didn’t have a moment of rest.

For starters, his physical features have undergone a transition. In the first month, he was so tiny and almost all his moves were executed in kinda-like slowmotion. His eyes were tiny and looked puffy. Nowadays he moves with a lot of confidence, his eyes and other facial features have taken a definite form. He has grown heavier and taller, forcing me to adjust how I rock him to sleep, as I could previously, with ease, hold him on the palm of my hands and balance him well. Not so anymore because he is now longer than my entire arm. He is today much more heavier, sometimes making my biceps ache. No kidding, I do have biceps nowadays.

So as I look back on the last two months, these are some of the things that I have noted about Kitty that have made the whole motherhood experience so precious, the little things that continue to bring so much joy to my life:

– Whenever I’m trying to burp him, he is always trying to nibble at my chin. Many are the times I end up with lots of saliva or burped milk all over my chin and blouse. At this rate, I will start putting on a bib to protect me clothing.
– Kitty has some interesting hair. It’s soft and thin and scanty, and hasn’t grown an inch since he was born. If anything, I think it has become less.
– When trying to catch my attention or when bored and relaxing, he coos and babbles a lot. The way he moves his tongue, lips, mouth and jaws as he produces exciting sounds whilst punching and kicking in the air make for a lovely sight. Hearing and watching him doing so makes my heart go ga-ga.
– When splurging him with kisses he often gives me a look of “mummy what exactly are you doing?” And when his father attempts to do so too, Kitty always pushes his face away. I guess boys reject murshy-ness from an early age, while we women just looooooooooove it.
– When sleepy, he rubs his eyes nonstop at the same time fighting with his face. Thank God for mittens.
– Kitty is an interesting sight when he’s asleep. Besides sleeping with his mouth open, he sleeps with his eyes half closed. Reminds me of kaka sungura, who, due to his mischief also sleeps with his eyes half open – always on the lookout for who might be coming to seek revenge.
– In the first month, he would smile in his sleep. Each time his mouth broke into a smile, his ears would go up and this would tickle me. But today, Kitty actually smiles and laughs with me – when he is awake. And as he does so, he punches and kicks in the air while producing these little interesting sounds which I think when translated mean “mummy you’re so pretty and I love you so much:-)”.
– In his early days, I would struggle to burp him and when he did, it was a tiny little faint almost inaudible burp. Nowadays he burps with ease, producing a deep and prolonged manly burp. Almost similar to his father’s:-).
– When I hold him upright and he wraps his arms around my neck. Priceless.
– How sweet he always smells, especially after his bath.

There are many other things but these are the ones I can write today. My lesson learnt is that even in the throes of hectic everyday living, there are always one or two things around us that can make our hearts melt with joy. If only we took time to observe and appreciate them.

So happy two-month old birthday Kitty. How time has flown so fast I have no idea. All I can say is that mummy and daddy love you so much, and we look forward to many more of your birthdays. We wish you God’s prosperity in all spheres of your life. xoxo.

Dorcas Nthenya: My Experiences Raising my Twin Girls

By
Maryanne W. Waweru
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2

Dorcas Nthenya Kibachio is a 33 year old Kenyan mother who delivered her first born twins in August last year. She talks to me about her motherhood experiences in this interview.

MT: When did you find out you were going to have twins? Who did you share this news with?

DNK: By week 8 of my pregnancy, I was experiencing severe migraines and bad nausea. At 8 weeks my clothes were already feeling tight, something I thought was unusual. When I reported this to my gynecologist, he sent me for a scan. That was when my husband and I were given the news that we were expecting twins. Listening to the two heartbeats was an indescribable experience. We were very surprised yet excited in equal measure, especially because neither of our families had a history of twins. My husband and I capped the good news by going out that evening to celebrate.

The first person I called was my mum with whom I shared the good news. Then came the second surprise of the day – my mum told me that our family had a history of twins, that her own sister has three sets of them! The next person we informed was my mother-in-law who was equally excited.

MT: Did you find out the sex of the babies? Did you tell other people?

DNK: I was curious to find out the sex of the twins and when I finally did so, I was by myself. I immediately shared the results of the scan with my husband. We chose to keep this information a secret until they were born.

MT: What was your pregnancy like? Any complications?

DNK: My pregnancy was okay, I didn’t experience complications as such. I walked to work every single day right up to the 7th month when walking became strenuous for me, mainly because my knees began aching. On some days I would use a taxi but when the knee pain wasn’t as bad, I would walk.

MT: Did you have any cravings?

DNK: During my first trimester, I loved eating githeri (mixed maize and beans) from one particular hotel. This was the only meal I would eat on my own without being coerced to feed by my husband. I remember I also couldn’t stand the smell of fried onions, so all our food was either boiled or fried with tomatoes only. For some reason, the smell of onions repulsed me.

I also loved lots of fruits, and ate lots of chicken and pork from the first day I discovered I was pregnant through to the day I delivered. Meanwhile, I stopped eating beef as I just didn’t feel like it.

MT: Did you work till last day?

DNK: I enjoyed going to work until my 37th week when I woke up one day and hard as I tried, I just could not get myself to go to work. Largely because my back was aching, and also because I used to get very hungry I felt I needed to be at home where the househelp would fix a quick meal of my choice anytime I needed it.

MT: Were they born early or on the due date?

DNK: The twins were delivered early because of some complications. Their umbilical cords were around their necks, so the doctor advised that it would be safer to have them delivered earlier than their due date. However, by some sort of coincidence, I started having contractions on the morning of the scheduled day of the caesarian section. I had mixed emotions – I was overly excited yet very nervous and scared. Thank God my husband was there with me and he gave me all the support and strength I needed as our twins were born.

MT: Are they identical or fraternal?

DNK: They are identical.

MT: Did you have to cope with colic?

DNK: Yes they were colic, and that meant I lots of sleepless nights. I lost memory of the last time I had a good night’s sleep. Their colicky was made worse by the fact they were on formula milk. Even though we gave them a certain drug to relieve their colic, it worked on some days and on others it didn’t, so we just learnt how to cope. But it certainly wasn’t easy.

MT: Describe what it is like feeding twins.

DNK: Feeding twins is no walk in the park for sure. It is hectic! I used to breastfeed them in between expressing breastmilk which they would take during the night. In addition, I had to supplement the milk with formula as I didn’t have enough breastmilk to satisfy them both. We would buy about a dozen tins of formula each month.

When I resumed work after my three maternity leave, my breastmilk reduced significantly. I weaned them at 5 months.

MT: They say that mothers of twins concentrate too much on the one with lower weight at birth, sometimes neglecting the heavier one. Is this true?

DNK: There is indeed some element of truth in this, going by my experience. I paid so much attention to the smaller one, especially in the first 2 weeks after we left hospital. They were born at 38 weeks, and while Faith weighed 2.25kg, Hope weighed just 1.8kg. Hope stayed in the neonatal High Dependency Unit for 6 days, and I gave her more attention than I did her sister. Now I give each one of them my equal attention, unless when one is sick and I have to concentrate on her. They are now 10 months old and weigh about 10kg.

MT: Did you have to cope with nipple cracks and painful breasts?

DNK: No I did not have sore or cracked nipples because the nurse at the hospital taught me how to position the baby on the breast so that they could latch well. But sometimes when my milk was alot and for some reason I was unable to express the pain would be unbearable…I felt like as though my breasts would burst!

MT: Is it true that when one gets sick the other one follows?

DNK: I couldn’t agree more with that statement. When one gets sick, hard as I try to ensure the other one does not fall ill too, I have never succeeded for shortly thereafter, the other twin always catches the infection. But thankfully, they rarely fall sick at the same time – one falls sick when the other one is almost attaining full recovery. If they both fell sick at the same time, I sure would go mad!

MT: Help around the house – how has that been?

DNK: I had to hire two houseirls. One is a day scholar and has been with me since the twins were 2 weeks old. I am very grateful because she has been of great assistance to me. As for the boarders, they usually stay for 3 months at most, then get tired and leave as they find it difficult to cope. I continue to pray that God will help me get one who will stay for long.

MT: What responsibilities does each househelp have? Do you pay them the same amount?

DNK: I do not assign tasks as such, they agree and divide chores among themselves. Initially, I used to pay the boarder more because when my husband was not around (I am based in Embu while he works in Nairobi), I would wake her up to help me feed the twins. Now I pay them the same amount because I feed the children myself at night and by the time the day scholar leaves in the evening, much of the work around the house has been completed.

MT: A mother’s gotta have “me” time! With your hands full with twins, how do you pamper yourself?

DNK: I have a friend who is a hair stylist, so I used to request her to come home and do my hair when the twins were newborns. Another friend who runs her own salon also used to send one of her girls to my house to work on my nails –manicures and pedicures. When the twins reached three months, we started going out for lunch and swimming on Saturday’s for about 3 hours. But today at least I can spend a whole day out of the house and attend to my pampering needs.

 

MT: What is the best part about having twins?

DNK: I am still so excited about them as they bring us so much joy into my life that I can’t put into words. I love it when they play together, when they hold on tight to me… and I know they also love me so much too. I can tell so because when I hold them they play with me and laugh loudly. They also follow me everywhere in the house with their baby walkers.

MT: The most challenging thing about having twins?

DNK: Admittedly, twins are an expensive affair. You can imagine the pampers, formula milk, househelps, vaccines….They also require a lot of attention and time so they must be with someone throughout. But I tell you God never provides where there is no need. That we can testify to.

MT: Has their father been of help?

DNK: He has been very helpful I don’t know what I would ever have done without him. When pregnant he prepared my favorite meals, ensured I religiously took my supplements, ironed both his clothes and mine, and made sure I had everything I needed and that I was comfortable throughout my pregnancy. When I delivered, he was the first one to arrive at the hospital each morning and the last to leave in the evening. While on paternity leave, he helped a lot with the twins, especially at night. He is a very hands-on person and used to accompany us for the twins’ vaccinations and hold the babies as they received their jabs. But above all, he is a very understanding man and did not move out of our bedroom to the couch like some men do when there are newborns in the home. I understand that many men make the living room their bedroom, with the housegirl moving into the master bedroom and sleeping on the floor as they assist the new mum during the night.

MT: Has being a mother changed you? If yes, how?

DNK: It definitely has. I am more responsible now, and I work twice as hard knowing that I have dependants. I have also learnt to spend my time more wisely so that I can maximize time with my family. While we previously led carefree lives with my husband – going out every weekend, taking frequent out-of-town trips and spending without much worry, nowadays we cannot do that as we have to watch our budget. We have decided to take it slow until the twins are about two years old, when we can take them to their grandparents’ for a weekend as we make time for ourselves. I must confess that I miss the getaway trips my husband and I used to take together, as well as the quiet moments we had at home. Today the house is abuzz with activity and we have had to adjust accordingly.

MT: How did you handle visitors who wanted to see the babies in the early days?

DNK: We asked our friends to wait until the girls were three months old. This is because the twins were born earlier than their due date and the doctor had advised so because they were vulnerable to infections. In the first month, only three people had access to the girls – me, their father and the boarder housegirl. When we explained the situation to relatives and friends, they understood. It paid off because they never got sick until they were 4 months old.

MT: Have you gone back to work? If yes how was the separation?

DNK: I went back to work after three months and it was very difficult being away from them. I used to dash home every 3 hours just because I missed them so much and because I had to express milk anyway. Thank God my work place is a 10 minute walk from the house.

Do you have interesting motherhood experiences? Do you have a unique story to tell? If you would like to share your tales in this blog, you can get in touch with me on engage@mummytales.com

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