YOUR SAY: I am so glad I kept my baby

They say that giving birth is the hardest thing a girl will ever do. It is not. Making the decision to keep the baby is. ILLUSTRATION| JOSEPH NGARI

What you need to know:

  • So you sit terrified in your room. Alone with the feeling that the world is closing in on you. You wonder how many prayers your staunch Christian mother will say for you now that you are in the family way and are not even married.

  • You tear up on thinking how her friends will colour her with all manner of names because she has an impetuous daughter who loved too furiously and gave too much too soon.

They say that giving birth is the hardest thing a girl will ever do. It is not. Making the decision to keep the baby is. Especially when your heart has been broken each everyway and the only emotion you are capable of feeling is hatred and terror.

Hatred for the person who promised to love you forever, and terror that you are not ready to be responsible for another life. Not when you are still so irresponsible with your own.

Terror that you might not be able to love the little being inside you if he comes out with the big droppy eyes you used to love and now deeply hate, or the receding hairline you used to tease him about.

So you sit terrified in your room. Alone with the feeling that the world is closing in on you. You wonder how many prayers your staunch Christian mother will say for you now that you are in the family way and are not even married.

You tear up on thinking how her friends will colour her with all manner of names because she has an impetuous daughter who loved too furiously and gave too much too soon.

You go on with your life as if nothing happened. Then the morning sickness hits you and you decide that dying is exponentially better. You call him, but of course he does not pick up.

You delete his number, much good that does since you have memorised it. You block him on all social media platforms and decide that getting rid of it is better since it is not even a person yet. You schedule an appointment with a backstreet clinic and drag yourself there before you lose your nerve.

THE IRONY

The rooms look just like those of a normal hospital. The receptionist looks exceptionally beautiful and radiant, given the circumstances. She is behind a large mahogany desk with a big vase holding cheery red roses.

Roses? The irony. You proceed to tell her you are two or more months along and you would like your life to go back to normal, whatever that is. She says the doctor is seeing someone but will be done in 15 minutes.

The fee will be 5,000 shillings, she says.

You see a girl being wheeled from what you assume is the theatre, and she seems harrowed. You break into tears and dash outside.

Your tummy is all distended now. You are emotionally numb. There is no longer any morning sickness. You no longer call him. You no longer see your mother and only talk to her on phone.

Your back hurts and you wonder in every waking moment of every single day whether you did the right thing, both by it and by yourself when you decided to keep it. It kicks, and you are sure you did the right thing.

Labour starts, and eventually, you call your mother and tell her that you are pregnant, and would she please rush you to hospital because you’re about to give birth?

She shows up and berates you for telling her this late and for getting pregnant in the first place, but she gets you to hospital in time, like you knew she would.

She gets you the best room there is and barks at the nurses to make you comfortable. She tears up when you scream and breathes for you when you cannot possibly do it, thanks to the pain. She cries and mops your brow when your baby at last pops out and gives her first wail.

You can at last feel again. You cry, for the first time knowing the true meaning of love unconditional. You cry, knowing that it was all worth it. For once, you are certain of something. You are certain that no matter how hard it gets, you will survive,

especially since you survived this.