I’m sitting eating toast. With honey and banana, it’s my new favourite food. The proper oven (!) G and I just bought has a fully functional grill restoring my ability to make and consume- inevitably copious amounts of- British toast. It’s lush, it’s comfort and I’m confident in time when asked which type of toast you want, it’ll be hard for you to choose between ‘tost’ and ‘toast’.
It’s early in the morning, not quite 6am. Baba’s just left for work and you’re wriggling in my tummy. For the past week I’ve been unable to write. Day after day I’ve sat down at the computer and started typing but the words have fallen away, through the keys, not wanting to stay. Now it makes sense. I’m 36 weeks pregnant with you. I can’t wait to meet you, every part of my body aches (literally!) to hold you in my arms and smell you, to sit and stare at you. We built your crib on Sunday; it’s sitting in pride of place at the bottom of our bed, cover-less for now but I’m on it, promise, waiting for you. Your Baba and I both find ourselves standing over it, wondering what you’ll look like in it. Filled with a mixture of nerves, fear, excitement, happiness, tension…a whole host of emotions culminating in a feeling unlike any other. We’re desperate to meet you, Mehmet Kaan, and yet, terrified at the same time.
I started this blog to explore and document the last few months of pregnancy; now I see that’s not what I need it for: I need it as a platform to talk to you, to explain those things you’re too young to understand, to share with you our reasons, our hopes, our dreams and your progress. I want a space here, in the vast emptiness that is the internet to share my journey into motherhood with you, to savour every little moment because already, and you’re not even here, I’m reluctant to let moments go.
In a few short weeks you’ll be in my arms inshallah. We’ll share precious moments when everyone else is asleep and others in bustling crowds. I want to treasure every one, to document them so as not to forget, to be able to recall the scent of your newborn skin, the sounds, the looks, the things that will be insignificant to anyone but us, your Mum and Baba. I want you to know that we love you, more than you’ll ever know. That the past 8 months waiting to meet you have been the most incredible of our lives. From the moment we saw you on the screen at 5 weeks old – a bean, nothing more – we knew we’d love you, we knew you’d change our lives; we didn’t know how much you’d change us. Alhamduillah, I feel so blessed to be your Mum. I hope I’m worthy of that title. I hope one day you’ll look back on your childhood, on our relationship, on the example I’ve set and say “yeah, she wasn’t so bad”…I pray I’m able to give you what you need, to lead you to a great life. A life where you feel able to achieve your dreams, a life where Allah’s blessings are upon you as you walk in his guidance and under our wings. I’m going to make mistakes. Baba and I wont always get it right, and often, I’m sure we won’t know we’ve got it wrong ’til there’s no turning back. I need you to know we’re trying, we’re trying with all of our might to be the parents you deserve. Only you, only you and Allah swt on judgement day, will be able to judge us correctly but can I ask of you one thing, my as yet unborn babe: Be gentle, please.
You’re kicking. Your knee prominently sticking out just below my ribs; it’s your position of the week. I’m uncomfy now as you get too big for the womb that you’re in. We watch my stomach moving in sync with you. We watch in awe as you toss and turn, explore your surroundings and prepare to vacate. We’re waiting right here. We’ll always be here. We love you, Baby M.