Hello lovelies — you know how much I enjoy sharing stories here. I’ve written about my first pregnancy, a blissful second trimester and a trying third trimester. I also shared the pain of a miscarriage and how I birthed my second daughter through prayer. Now it’s time to tell you about my latest pregnancy journey.
This pregnancy was especially challenging because I was caring for two toddlers while battling morning sickness. Some days I would lie down in my room and leave them to play, only to hear the triumphant noises as they scattered toys and made a mess. I would lie there, exhausted, listening to their shouts of jubilation while planning the next round of cleanup.
The morning sickness eased when the midwife prescribed something to curb vomiting, but the medicine brought severe headaches and dizziness. It solved one problem and created two others — annoying side effects that made the whole experience more difficult.
Cravings were another memorable part of this pregnancy. I longed for the exact corn and beans porridge my aunt made when we visited her in Cameroon — not a close substitute, but that same pot and taste. I also developed a desperate craving for overcooked Nigerian jollof rice, the kind that had been slightly burnt during preparation. I even found myself almost befriending a random Nigerian woman just to get a plate of the burnt jollof I wanted.
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| The beginning of belle |
There were small, frustrating moments too — like the time Mr N bought me a hamburger I badly wanted but stopped to run errands before coming home, so by the time I ate it it was cold. The disappointment felt outsized during pregnancy.
At one point I had to put blogging on hold because juggling everything became overwhelming. Overall, the pregnancy was a mix of intrigue, joy, and frequent frustration.
As the months passed, my due date approached. I had always delivered before the expected date in previous pregnancies, so I assumed this time would be the same. I was wrong. I packed and repacked my hospital bags, expecting the baby on January 1st or even the night before — but the due date came and went without labor. I grew increasingly irritated, and the constant calls from friends and family asking if the baby had arrived only added to my frustration.
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| Me and my humongous tummy by the baby’s crib all set up |
To make matters more stressful, I went to the hospital twice and was sent home both times after being diagnosed with false labor. The first visit felt especially familiar — I thought my waters had broken, as happened during my first labor experience — but after hours of tests I was discharged. The second trip was equally deflating; I don’t even remember what prompted it, but it wasn’t real labor either.
Three days after my due date, the baby finally arrived. Giving birth in America was a noticeably different experience from delivering at home, and I plan to share those differences in my next pregnancy diary. For now, I’m relieved and grateful to have the baby safely here.
Until next time, stay sweet!