Honestly, I'm not sure how much more of this I can take. I need a vacation—scratch that—I need a permanent getaway. Being a wife and a mother is exhausting, especially when you're nine months pregnant and dealing with a toddler in the terrible twos phase. Sabrina has mastered the art of tantrums: crying, wailing, throwing herself on the floor like a little drama queen. And honestly, I don't know if I'm stronger or just stubborn, because every single day, I handle it. But God knows I need a break.

Muhammad? Sigh I love him, but honestly, he doesn't help. He'll come home after a long day at the office and act like he's the one who's been carrying the weight of the world. He doesn't get it. How could he? He's not the one dealing with a toddler in full meltdown mode and a baby kicking away in my belly. It's like he thinks I'm some kind of superwoman, capable of doing it all while looking like a tired, overworked housekeeper. And don't even get me started on the constant stream of requests: "Pass me the remote," "Go get my phone." Seriously?

Se shegen mita tsiya kamar tsoho—he's lucky I don't snap sometimes.

But what can I do? Both he and Sabrina take me for granted, acting like I'm their personal maid. It's beyond frustrating. I've had enough of being everyone's servant and not getting any time to rest. I need a break.

Today is Thursday, and for once, I decided to stay in my room and rest while Sabrina's downstairs, happily watching TV with her nanny. It's been such a long week, and I just wanted a moment of peace. But of course, the universe had other plans.

A knock on the door interrupts my solitude, and when I call out for them to come in, the last person I expect to see walks in.

"Mamima!" I squeal, trying my best to sit up as I hug Ni'imah tightly. The warmth of her presence is comforting, and for a moment, I forget all the stress of the day.

"Mai ciki, you look like you're about to give birth any second," she says, eyeing my very round belly. "Are you sure you're not giving birth to twins, Lay?" She laughs lightly, but I can't help but roll my eyes.

"Oh, please, if I were having twins, I'd know," I responded, sarcastically. I could feel her teasing energy, but it wasn't really what I needed right now.

Ni'imah doesn't let it go, though. "Gut feeling, huh? And no, you still haven't checked the baby's gender?"

I let out a small sigh, barely able to move because my belly feels so heavy. "No, we haven't. But honestly, I feel like it's a boy."

"Allah ya sa," she says, muttering a prayer as I smile, nodding in agreement. "Ameen."

We shift the topic to something else, but I can tell she's itching to know how I'm really doing. But what's there to say? I'm tired. Worn out. But, of course, I can't show it.

Ni'imah stays until Maghrib, and by the time she leaves, I feel off. Not physically, but emotionally. Maybe it's just the pregnancy hormones messing with my head. The thought of delivering in just a few weeks makes my heart race.

By the time Muhammad gets home, I'm already lying on the bed, still trying to shake off the weird feeling. The second he enters, I don't even bother with a greeting.

"Baby, are you okay?" he asks, immediately coming over to press the back of his hand to my forehead.

I groan softly, clutching my stomach. "No, I'm not okay. Something feels wrong. I think it's the baby. Muhammad, please, take me to the hospital."

I can see the concern written all over his face. Without hesitation, he grabs his phone and makes a few calls before we rush to the hospital.

The ride feels long. My mind races with all the worst-case scenarios. What if something is wrong with the baby? What if this is the end? I try to keep calm for Muhammad's sake, but inside, I'm a mess.

We arrive, and it feels like the weight of the world is pressing down on me as we meet Dr. Hauwa, my cousin, who's also our family obstetrician. She's calm, but even I can sense that something isn't right. The scan shows it.

"Layla, your baby is in distress," she says, sitting across from us, her voice serious.

My heart stops. I glance at Muhammad, then at Dr. Hauwa, trying to wrap my mind around what she just said. "What does that mean?"

She sighs, looking between Muhammad and me. "It means fetal distress. Your baby is experiencing oxygen deprivation. It could lead to birth asphyxia."

What? My mind races, and my stomach tightens. That doesn't sound good at all.

"Fetal distress includes changes in the baby's heart rate, decreased fetal movement, and meconium in the amniotic fluid. We have to address it immediately to avoid any permanent injury," Dr. Hauwa explains, looking directly at Muhammad now.

Muhammad is clearly rattled, his eyes wide with fear. "What does this mean for Layla? What do we do?"

"The only way to stop fetal distress is to deliver the baby. Typically, this is done through a cesarean, and we need to do it quickly," Dr. Hauwa says, her tone a little more urgent now.

I just nod, trying to keep myself together. "Whatever it takes to keep the baby safe."

Dr. Hauwa looks at the papers, calculating. "Your EDD is August second?" she asks Muhammad.

He answers without hesitation. "Yes, four days from now."

"Perfect," Dr. Hauwa says, nodding and writing something down. "I'll schedule you for surgery tomorrow at 8 AM. Don't worry, Layla. We're going to take care of you and the baby. There's nothing to be afraid of."

I barely hear her words as my mind races. Tomorrow. Tomorrow I'll finally meet this little person who's been kicking inside me for months. It feels surreal.

Before long, the nurse arrives to guide us to a private room. Muhammad stays close, his hand at my lower back, gently making soothing circles. At least he's here for me right now.

In the room, I change into a hospital gown. They give me the epidural, and then I'm left alone for a bit while Muhammad and Dr. Hauwa sign papers. I feel so strange—so nervous and yet so ready. The weight of everything presses on me—what's to come, how my life will change in the morning.

When they finally bring me to the operating room, everything is a blur of people, and I can barely focus on what's happening around me. They prep me—more IVs, oxygen, catheter—and I barely register it. My body feels numb already, and I'm just ready for this to be over, ready to meet my baby. I can't wait to hold him, to finally see his little face.

I can't feel anything as they make the incision, but I can sense the pressure, the tugging. My body trembles slightly as they work. The next moments feel like they stretch out for an eternity, but then, a loud cry fills the room.

"Is it a boy?" I whisper weakly, my voice barely audible over the sound of the baby crying.

The doctor lifts the baby so I can see him. My heart swells as I gaze at him—the tiny hands, the little face. My baby boy. My son. He looks so fragile, so perfect.

Dr. Hauwa steps out of the operating room and announces to everyone waiting, "Layla gave birth to a baby boy. Both she and the baby are fine, Alhamdulillah."

Alhamdulillah. Finally, my little one is here. As they place him in my arms, I feel a sense of calm wash over me. All the anxiety, all the stress from the last few hours fades into nothing. My son is here, safe and sound.

And somehow, everything feels right again.

Thank you for reading. 🥰

                -love deedahh.💗