| One day before delivery… I was having ‘fun’. Blame it on my brother and his crazy ideas… |
If you haven’t already, please read MY FIRST PREGNANCY 1 and MY FIRST PREGNANCY 2 to get the full story leading up to this installment.
That night I woke up again to pee. Not literally the twentieth time, but it felt like it. My sleep was constantly interrupted by trips to the bathroom. Groggy and annoyed, I hauled myself out of the locally made oak bed, shuffled to the bathroom, emptied my bladder, and crawled back under the covers hoping to return to dreamland.
Only minutes later, the urge came back. I frowned. How could my bladder possibly fill so fast? If my bladder were a person, we would have had a serious conversation. I tried to ignore it and fall back asleep, but it was futile. Reluctantly, I got up and went again.
Sleepless nights for mothers often begin long before delivery — many start during the third trimester. The many discomforts of late pregnancy turn a full night’s sleep into a distant memory.
Sleeping became a constant struggle. When I lay on my right side I felt like switching to the left; when I was on the left I wanted to be on my right. Lying on my back seemed tempting for a moment, then I would wish I could lie on my stomach — an impossibility at that stage. Nights were a blur of shifting positions, tossing and turning until dawn.
After the relative ease of the second trimester, the third brought its own challenges. My body ballooned: clothes that once fit no longer did, my shorts stopped at my thighs, and even my fingers swelled until my wedding ring became stuck. I tried repeatedly to remove it and failed.
My feet felt enormous (a bit of an exaggeration), and the hospital explained this was due to fluid retention — a condition called edema. It wasn’t painful, just uncomfortable and odd.
As I moved about, people’s reactions changed from playful teasing to sympathetic concern. Almost everyone suggested I drink lemongrass tea — locally called “fever grass.” I took their advice seriously. I practically finished a neighbor’s patch of lemongrass: harvesting fresh stalks, boiling them, and drinking the tea mostly without sugar. When fresh stalks ran out I used dried ones, grateful for generous neighbors who kept me supplied. My flask was never without lemongrass tea. Despite drinking it constantly, I didn’t notice any dramatic change — though my enthusiasm for the drink was contagious and soon friends and family were sipping it too.
At the clinic I was told to have an ultrasound. The midwife explained it in a way that made me smile:
Belle dem, as time for born di cam reach e fine for go make dem look pikin for computer. E go helep we for know if pikin di grow fine. Them go check dat water wey e shiddon inside if e correct. Den dey go check if pikin shiddon fine. Abeg, for here we no di talk wether pikin na boy or girl because some Mami dem di vex when they say na boy when they want girl or they say girl, when they want boy. Pikin na pikin!
The ultrasound cost 10,000 CFA francs. The technician reassured me: I was healthy and the baby was doing well. They gave me a printed picture that was mostly overlapping shades of black and white — not much to interpret, but a comforting token that all was okay. I left thankful that the baby was fine.
In the next post I will share the story of my first delivery.