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The Baby Shower


So two days ago my friends threw me a baby shower. Was I surprised? Hell yeah! So how did my cool buddies manage to pull that one off, because I had vowed that this time, unlike my bridal shower, I wasn’t gonna be caught unawares? Well, its starts from far.

All of last week, I was suffering from serious fatigue, and I had made the decision not to leave the house on Saturday. The hubby and I had made plans to commence our Lamaze classes at home in the afternoon, and other than that, I had planned to do absolutely NOTHING all day long but simply laze around, idling, eating and sleeping. I was not going to leave the house no matter what. I was just too tired.

So as I was going about my business of lazing around during the mid-morning hours, I suddenly got this craving for Ethiopian food. And when a pregnant woman craves a particular food, she won’t rest until she gets it otherwise there will be no peace. So I texted the hubby and told him to bring me Ethiopian for lunch. And recognizing the value of peace in the house, the considerate hubby promptly replied, saying he would gladly do so. But under one condition (grrr). That I would agree to leave the house after the Lamaze classes to go shop around for furniture (what a plan!!). Now why on earth would he give me such an ultimatum knowing how fatigued I’d been all week long and how clear I had made my plans for Saturday known to him? I didn’t think that was fair at all. But my protests fell on deaf ears. If I did not agree to leave the house, then he would not bring me Ethiopian. And that scared the living chickens out of me. There was no way I was not going to have Ethiopian for lunch.

“No excuses, no arguments.” The text said. Total blackmail if you ask me. Maybe in marriage you sometimes have to use blackmail to get your way. The pastor certainly forgot to mention that during premarital classes.

Anyway, I reluctantly agreed to the blackmail deal, only because I was going to go into depression if I didn’t eat Ethiopian. I was willing to do ANYTHING for that meal. So as I waited for him, I salivated and listened to my heart beat fast as I anticipated his arrival. Ooohhhh, but how the minutes dragged! Time simply stood still, and however hard I tried to distract myself by keeping busy (by watching a Nigerian movie), it wasn’t working.

But God is good because a few hours later, just when I was on the verge of collapse from hunger, the hubby walked in with the most delicious bag of aroma I have ever smelt. I don’t remember if I even welcomed him on his way in, but I do certainly remember aggressively grabbing the bag with the delicacies and proceeding to heat the contents, then gluttonously gobbling them down. My oh my, how I loved that food. Every bite and swallow was pure heaven. It was the sweetest and most pleasurable feeling, something comparable to a drop of ice in the hot Sahara desert. That food was toooooooo nyom (sumptous). And when I was through, I lay back on the seat, with a sly grin on my face, looking like the cat that had just eaten the canary. I was truly very happy from the very bottom of my heart, and I duly expressed this with a series of belches.

So when we were through with the Lamaze classes, the hubby told me to “get up and put on my shoes because we were leaving now.” And there I was thinking he had forgotten all about his earlier threat. My attempts to feign extreme fatigue and oh, you know my back, my feet, heartburn, constipation…were quickly thwarted by a certain look he gave me. I promptly dragged myself and threw on some bland clothes because hey, who dresses up when they are going to for furniture window shopping along the dusty roadsides of Nairobi?

So off we went, and I soon found myself in familiar territory – taking a turn towards a friends place. And in no time, there were cries of ‘Surprise!!!!!!”, and it was indeed a lovely surprise to see my close friends, all anxiously waiting for me. I don’t know how I missed out on that obvious hint – who goes for furniture window shopping at 6.45 in the evening, when darkness has already set in?



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Maryanne W. Waweru is a Kenyan mum raising her two sons in Nairobi. A journalist, Maryanne is passionate about telling stories and hopes that through her writing, her readers learn something new, feel encouraged, inspired, and appreciative of what they have in their lives. Maryanne's writing focuses on motherhood, women and lifestyle. "Telling stories is the only thing I know how to do," she says.


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