The Unyielding Dawn: A Mother’s First Stirrings
The first hint of daylight barely filters through the blinds as my eyes flutter open, unwillingly. A quick, furtive glance at the digital clock beneath the television confirms my suspicions: it’s barely 6 AM. “Morning again?” I murmur to myself, a sigh escaping my lips. It feels as though I’ve only just closed my eyes, yet the relentless rhythm of motherhood has already begun its daily drumbeat. My body, still heavy with sleep, yearns for just a few more precious moments of oblivion. But as I tentatively shift, caught between the siren call of slumber and the insistent demands of the day, a tiny stir beside me signals the inevitable. My baby, previously lost in the blissful depths of a beauty sleep I can only envy, begins to squirm, her mouth opening in a silent, yet powerfully communicative, quest for nourishment. This is her eloquent way of announcing that Mother Nature’s finest, provided through me, is now on the morning menu.
A Symphony of Needs: Morning Rituals Unfold
Reluctantly, yet with an ingrained tenderness, I pull her close, her soft weight a familiar comfort against my side. The early morning feeding session begins, a quiet communion as she latches on, her tiny slurps a rhythmic underscore to the emerging day. Her eyes remain closed, a testament to her deep contentment, as she drinks. After a contented five minutes, I gently shift her to the other side, ensuring she empties both breasts. My mind, however, is already sprinting ahead, mapping out the labyrinthine tasks that lie before me. Beyond the delightful, if often chaotic, “mommying” duties for my two older girls, the day’s agenda stretches long. Girl number one has an open house at school, a significant event requiring my presence. Groceries, an ever-present necessity, must be acquired. And, crucially, I need to claim the vital vouchers from the Department of Public Health, ensuring my baby receives the supplementary feeding she needs.
Before my mental checklist can fully form, a gentle rustling from the next room announces the awakening of my eldest. Soon, the door creaks open, and girl number one, with her characteristic grace, peeks in. A radiant smile, bright as the morning sun, blesses me. She proceeds directly to the bathroom, where her morning routine unfolds with almost religious precision. I hear the delicate trickle of water as she empties her bladder, followed by the comforting rush of the flushing toilet—a semi-waterfall sound that signals the successful completion of her task. Moments later, she reappears, her smile even wider, a cherished morning ritual she has maintained since her own baby days.
I return her smile, and our early morning conversation begins, a familiar dance of words that sets the tone for the day. “Good morning, Mama,” she greets me, her voice sweet with childish enthusiasm. “Good morning, my dear. How did you sleep?” I reply, my voice still a little thick with sleep but filled with warmth. “I slept well,” she affirms, and then, as is her custom, she launches into a detailed account of her night—perhaps a vivid dream, her exciting plans for the day, or a cherished story she feels compelled to recount for the umpteenth time. Gently, I ask her to postpone the grand narrative until we are downstairs, reminding her not to disturb her younger sisters who are still deep in slumber. Our chit-chat, I promise, will resume with even greater gusto over breakfast.
The Mid-Day Momentum: Juggling Home and Beyond
By now, the baby’s vigorous sucking has subsided, and she has settled into using my breast as a comforting pacifier. With the utmost gentleness, I retrieve my nipple, tucking it securely into my shirt. I then motion to girl number one to follow me, and together, we descend the stairs, ready to face the day’s next chapter. As soon as we reach the living room, she promptly reminds me of our cherished prayer session. I tell her to wait for girl number two, who is still peacefully asleep upstairs. Our devotion, I explain, is a family affair, a time for all three of us to connect. From the basement, I can faintly hear the gentle snores of Mr. N, catching a few precious hours of sleep before his night shift begins, having only returned home barely an hour ago.
It isn’t long before the rhythmic, robust thumping of girl number two’s footsteps announces her grand entrance. She bounds into the living room, a wide, infectious grin spreading across her face as she proudly announces, “I sweep in the morning!” Her unique vocabulary often leads to amusing misunderstandings; she means to say, “I woke up in the morning,” but frequently swaps “woke up” for “sweep.” Her charming mispronunciations are a constant source of endearment and lightheartedness in our home. I send girl number one upstairs to fetch the children’s Bible, and soon, we are gathered, engrossed in the ancient story of the Walls of Jericho. As I read the passage detailing the Israelites marching around the city, the girls, captivated, rise and march enthusiastically around our living room, reenacting the powerful biblical narrative. After our prayers, I head to the kitchen to prepare their breakfast, a medley of their favorite morning treats. The baby, now fully awake and refreshed, joins the bustling crew, demanding and receiving my immediate attention.
To further reinforce the morning’s lesson, I turn on the television, navigate to YouTube, and search for “Walls of Jericho for children.” Soon, a vibrant cartoon rendition of the story plays, captivating the girls with its engaging visuals. While they are happily absorbed, I seize a rare moment to turn to my computer, checking my Blogger dashboard for updates and scrolling through Facebook notifications, catching up with the digital world. This brief window of productivity is quickly followed by the more tangible task of tackling the formidable pile of dishes in the kitchen sink. With the dishes sparkling clean, I move on to scrubbing the kitchen floor, restoring order to the heart of our home. Then, it’s shower time for the girls. I usher them in one by one, starting with girl number two, followed by girl number one, and finally, the baby. In between bathing the older girls, I manage a quick chat with a friend on Facebook Messenger, a fleeting connection to the adult world. The baby, however, is not content to be alone; her persistent cries demand my presence. I quickly assign girl number one the important role of “cheerleader,” tasked with entertaining her younger sister while I meticulously dress girl number two.
The Evening Marathon: Winding Down and Preparing Anew
At last, all three girls are dressed and ready for the day. I send them downstairs, granting myself a precious few minutes for a quick, invigorating shower. But even this brief respite is interrupted; as I dress, the baby’s soft sobs begin, steadily escalating into urgent pleas for my attention. I quickly apply some gel and olive oil to my natural hair, gathering it into a neat ponytail. The baby’s cries intensify, transforming into a full-blown scream. Without hesitation, I scoop her up, placing her securely on my back, and use a large, patterned cloth to strap her firmly to me, a traditional and comforting embrace that instantly calms her. With my baby nestled snugly against me, I expertly apply a touch of makeup to my face. As soon as my quick beautification ritual is complete, I spritz on some perfume, adding a final touch of readiness. Then, I prepare a small bottle of diluted 100% apple juice for the baby, a sweet treat to keep her hydrated and happy while we are out and about.
Mr. N, now refreshed from his short sleep, joins us, quickly getting himself ready. Together, we embark on our first outing: girl number one’s open house at school. It’s a joyful occasion as she explores her new classroom, plays with her classmates, and eagerly gets acquainted with her new teachers. Our next stop is the city community center, where we make a few necessary inquiries, navigating the bureaucratic maze with efficiency. From there, our day transforms into a series of store visits, culminating in a substantial bulk purchase at a bustling African store, stocking up on essential ingredients and cherished delicacies that remind us of home.
By the time we finally return home, the streetlights have long since flickered to life, and the clock on the dashboard reads well past 7 PM. Despite the late hour, the work is far from over. I immediately begin the process of unraveling the fresh groundnuts (peanuts) we purchased, setting them to boil on the stove, their aroma promising a comforting snack later. The car is overflowing with plastic bags of groceries, a mountain of provisions that needs to be transferred inside. The baby, sensing my temporary availability, expresses her desire for a nursing session, but the timing is simply not convenient. Instead, I offer her a small bottle of water, a simple distraction that usually buys me a few crucial minutes. With girl number one’s eager assistance, we begin the monumental task of putting away the groceries. The various cuts of meat—smoked turkey, beef strips, beef skin, chicken breasts, and drumsticks—are meticulously packed into my upright freezer. A beef steak is set aside in the refrigerator, destined to become delicious soya the following day, a treat we all look forward to.
The pantry fills with Ovaltine, fresh coconuts, rich coconut milk, versatile corn flour, essential yam flour for pounded yam, fragrant fresh garlic and ginger, ripe plantains, and hearty yams, among many other staples. Throughout this entire process, girl number one remains a tireless conversationalist, her ceaseless stream of questions a testament to her active and curious mind. Girl number two, meanwhile, is kneeling quietly. It is her punishment for an earlier transgression: playfully poking the baby while she was asleep, a reminder of the delicate balance required when managing siblings. The groundnuts, now perfectly boiled, are drained and left to cool at the sink as I complete the last of the grocery organizing. The baby, no longer distracted by her bottle, persistently crawls towards me, clinging to my legs. I ingeniously distract her with a collection of “toys”—mostly empty cardboard boxes that spark her imagination and keep her happily engaged.
The Elusive Pause: A Mother’s Final Chapter
The older girls happily crunch on the boiled groundnuts, which I deem their protein for the night. I give each a light, flaky croissant and a cup of chocolate milk, a comforting supper after their busy day. While they enjoy their snack, I quickly prepare some French fries for Mr. N, who is already catching some much-needed sleep in preparation for his upcoming night shift. The baby continues her relentless scooting around the floor, exploring her domain with boundless energy. I take out the garbage, a final chore for the day. Then, I meticulously apply toothpaste to each of the girls’ toothbrushes, sending them upstairs to brush their teeth and prepare for bed. While they complete their evening hygiene, I wash the newly soiled dishes in the kitchen sink, a task that seems to be a never-ending cycle.
Finally, with the kitchen tidied, I carry the baby upstairs. I ensure my little ladies are comfortably nestled in their pajamas. We share a few moments of play, a final burst of laughter before settling down for our evening prayers, giving thanks for the day’s blessings. I bid them good night, my heart full of love and gratitude. There is an undeniable sense of accomplishment and quiet joy that washes over me as I tuck them into bed. Two down, one more to go. My breasts, full and hard after several hours without a feeding, signal the baby’s upcoming demand. I grab a handful of the boiled groundnuts, chewing them contentedly as I stand for a moment. Then, I turn on the television, settle onto the couch, and begin the final nursing session of the day.
As my baby girl nurses, I allow myself a moment of quiet connection, checking my favorite blogs on my phone and browsing the internet for interesting reads. When she is finally done, I place her gently on the rug to play, and then, with a flicker of hope, I open my computer. I attempt to juggle the thought of a late dinner with the desire to pen down a story, to capture the essence of my day. Alas, my energy is depleted; I only manage to drink a warm cup of Ovaltine. Updating my blog feels like an insurmountable task tonight. I give my baby girl one more feeding, and in the comfort of my arms, she finally drifts off to sleep, her tiny body heavy with slumber. I am utterly worn out, my body screaming for rest. There are, at this moment, three undeniable desires that consume me:
- Sleep
- Sleep
- Sleep
Do you now understand why I often say my life is in fierce competition with a roller coaster ride? Each day is an exhilarating, exhausting, and utterly unpredictable journey of highs and lows. The landscape of motherhood, as depicted here, is ever-evolving. P.S.: I simply had to republish this story because the past few days have mirrored this exact scenario, albeit with one significant difference: my baby girl no longer nurses, so I’ve traded breastfeeding for the delightful, and sometimes messy, adventure of feeding her REAL FOOD. Ha!