Is it a girl or a boy?
This is a question that has been banging the walls of my brain. Each possibility hitting harder for a higher chance to become a reality. Only time, however, can settle this duel.

It’s been barely two months. Two months that feel like a decade and still a minute. Two months into this contract and I have mixed feelings about the outcome. You know the difference between what you expect and what you get.
The father has all the good genes. His physique shows it. I made sure of it. I even asked to go through his past medical notes just to pick on any gene that might show its ugly face later. But then the thing with genetics, it is a game of chance. Trying to get the perfect combination of genes is just an almost impossibility.

Charles or Charlotte, Brian or Brianna.

Just a few more weeks and I will settle on whether to get a blue or pink baby shawl. I want a pink shawl though, it would go well with the grey mittens I am making. For the longest time, I have wanted a daughter for a firstborn but then the father wants a son.  A battle of the sexes. A daughter would make the best big sister and of course I want a mini-me to play dress-up with on play dates, a perfect excuse to fill up the spare closet with high heels.

My skin glows different, my heart beats faster, my lungs fill faster, or at least they try to. My body feels different. I envision a smooth and eventless contract, but my gut tells me I am in for a rude shock. I need to fasten up.

I want it to speak like its father. But then its grandmother would say her daughter gave birth to a gangster. Talk of the dreadlocks stereotype. She would call the father a terrorist and the mother a rebellious little girl. Neither of those would change the fact that it is its fathers.

The buckle of my belt jingles on touch. The bohemian beads swing left and right creating a musical rhythm. Undoing the buckle is rather too loud causing unnecessary inconvenience to the process. Cold hands navigate through my lower abdomen undoing the buttons on their way but my pants hold their position. I must have added a few kilos. Lingering on my belly button, the hands massage trying to feel for the growing bump. Nothing!

A sharp cruciate pain passes on my lower back threatening to weaken my balance but I support myself on the wall. The mirror reflects an image of me only in my heavily beaded tank and the pants halfway down my thighs. The streak of pain sneaks its way back again. We all have dreams.

It’s time I changed that tampon.

*****
Heeeeeeeeèeeeeey guys
Too much excitement, too much🥳
Hey, how are you?
I have missed you🥺
This girl and her blog went MIA, but now I am back.
Life happened, disappointment, character development, covid
But guess what, I am back, and I am better😅

Thank you so much for the continued support💛💛💛My people in the DMS and WhatsApp asking for blogs, you kept me on my toes and well, Here they are🥳.
If you are a new reader, I promise my author’s notes are not usually this long, but sometimes I get carried away. Welcome to the Squad👏👏👏Around here, guests get the first slots in the comments, claim yours!

Have you heard that faith Daktari is going to audio?😎 Lemme tell you, get yourself some good headphones, ama sign contract na za jirani. The audio platform is LAUNCHING SOON. Get ready my friends.

Too much excitement, too much. I missed you my people😍

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Adios
^Faith