I know most people don’t like the idea of ‘a favourite child’ because it breeds a certain type of sentiment that only those less-loved can relate to. Maybe the term ‘less loved’ used loosely is inaccurate in this case; it’s not that parents have varying degrees of love allocated to each child, it’s more about fondness. The truth is, I may be biased because I fall into the category of the favourites.
This came from no spell of mine, though, for as long as I can remember I was always called “the Christmas Miracle”.(My siblings were always livid at this special term of endearment.) And, truly, my birth story – springboard from a preceding love story – wasn’t short of a miracle.
My parents love each other, it’s quite telling as a present-day fact. If they weren’t human, I’d say they’ve never had an altercation. They’ve done a decent job shielding my siblings and me from their love squabble.
However, there’re more curves to their love story. I’ll be turning sixteen on the 25th of December. I wouldn’t have divulged this information if it didn’t matter to my story. My parents are in their late 50’s and 60’s, respectively: my mom is 58, while my dad is 65. So, my mom was 42 when she birthed me, which was 15 years after their solemn wedding vows.
Before I was conceived, my parents tried to have a child through diverse means.
Though they are learned and modern, they still fell into the trap of religious shenanigans that bordered on diabolism. Acting on instruction, they woke up in the night to pray naked; took an apple to the church every day for a week; chanted incantations; and of course, gave out huge amounts of money to so-called prophets… it was an unending scam-quest.
None of these worked.
She did IVF at least ten times and took in five times. Unfortunately, each time that happened, she had a miscarriage that almost snatched her life from her.
My dad’s family ran out of patience. But he didn’t.
They bullied and made her feel less of a woman, but, every time this happened, he was by her side, fighting off his preying relatives and shielding her with so much love that they claimed he was bewitched.
After the last failed IVF procedure, my mom lost all hope of being a birth mother.
Suddenly, the future she hoped for was tinted with bleakness. She began sulking and having bouts of moods swings that threatened the life of her marriage. The woman who used to be caring was now nonchalant and stoic; her smile was replaced with a constant frown, her bubbly countenance gave way to constant nagging, the person who was her life – my dad – became the bane of her existence.
Through this phase, my dad’s love remained unfazed.
He decided it was time for them to leave the country on holiday in the UK to cheer her up. It worked. And, in my mom’s words: “Your father and I felt young again. There was no one and nothing keeping us from being our true selves. So, we did what we wanted and went everywhere we chose to with no restrictions,” she said with starry eyes and a brimming smile. “It was one of the best times of my life.”
“Unknown to us at the time, that trip that was void of tension and unrealistic expectations would change our lives.” She looked at me like I was a living angel and said “that’s when you were conceived. My miracle daughter”
Mom went on to say that when she found out she had conceived, she believed it was an error from the test kits, so she withheld the news from my dad until after the third month.
He could barely contain his joy. I was named Miracle.
To be honest, assimilating each word and understanding the trauma my mom went through to have me made me feel awful. However, I couldn’t help but admire how resilient my dad’s love was, and still is.
I hope you find love a pure and experience your own Christmas miracle this season.