mikky

Sleep did not come to Ifeoma the way it used to.
It did not arrive softly or wrap her in rest. It came like something that had been waiting at the edge of her consciousness, watching patiently for the moment her body would give in. That night, when she finally closed her eyes, it felt less like she was falling asleep and more like she was stepping into a place she had never been before.
She found herself standing barefoot on damp earth, the air around her thick and unfamiliar. In front of her stretched a river, wide and restless, yet something about it was terribly wrong. The water was moving, but not in the direction it should. It flowed backwards, against its own nature, as though time itself had been reversed.
Ifeoma stood still, trying to understand what she was seeing, but her body betrayed her. Her feet began to move slowly toward the river, drawn by a force she could not resist. The closer she got, the colder the air became, until her skin prickled and her breath grew unsteady.
Then she saw it.
At first, it looked like a bundle of white cloth floating on the surface of the water. It rose and fell gently with the strange backward current. Something in her chest tightened. She did not want to go closer, yet she could not stop herself.
As she approached the edge, the cloth began to loosen, as though unseen fingers were carefully unwrapping it. Time seemed to slow, stretching each second into something heavy and unbearable. When the last fold fell away, she saw a child lying within it.
A boy.
His eyes were open.
He was not crying, not struggling, not afraid. He simply stared at her with a calmness that did not belong to a newborn. There was something ancient in his gaze, something that made her heart pound against her ribs.
Before she could speak or move, the river began to change. The clear water darkened slowly, deepening into a thick red that spread like a stain. It was not mud. It was blood.
The current carried it gently around the child, yet it did not harm him. Instead, it seemed to cradle him, as though the river itself had chosen to protect him. The sight filled Ifeoma with a fear she had never known, the kind that settles deep in the soul and refuses to leave.
She tried to call out, but no sound came from her mouth.
Then she heard a voice.
It did not come from any direction she could see. It rose from the river, from the air, from somewhere within and beyond her all at once. It was neither the voice of a man nor a woman, but something older, something that carried the weight of time.
The voice spoke slowly, deliberately, as though each word mattered.
It told her that the child she was looking at walked between worlds, that he had been sent but would not be welcomed, that he carried light yet would be seen as darkness. Each word settled heavily on her chest, making it harder for her to breathe.
The child’s lips moved then, but the voice that followed was not his alone. It sounded layered, as if many voices spoke through him at once. When he called her “mother,” her knees gave way beneath her, and she sank to the ground, trembling.
She wanted to understand. She needed to understand.
When she asked who he was, the river responded before the voice did. It surged violently, the blood rising higher until it touched her feet. The sensation was cold, yet it burned against her skin in a way that made her flinch.
The answer she received did not comfort her. It only deepened her fear.
The child lifted his hand toward her, as though asking her to come closer, but something behind him caught her attention. A shadow stood at a distance, tall and distorted, neither fully formed nor entirely formless. It did not move, yet she felt its awareness. It was watching, not just the child, but her as well.
She could not tell whether it belonged to him or had come for him.
Before she could look away, she felt a presence behind her, close enough that her body stiffened. The voice returned, quieter this time, almost like a whisper against her ear. It told her to call the child by his name, insisting that the heavens had already given it to him.
Ifeoma’s lips trembled. She did not know the name, yet it rose within her as though it had always been there, waiting.
When she finally spoke it, her voice barely above a whisper, everything changed.
The river erupted violently, sending waves crashing against the unseen banks. A scream filled the air, sharp and filled with anger, but it did not come from her or the child. It came from something else, something that reacted to the name as though it had been challenged.
The sound shook the world around her.
Then everything disappeared.
Ifeoma woke with a gasp, her body drenched in sweat. Her hands moved instantly to her stomach, gripping it tightly as though she needed to confirm that she was still there, that the child was still there.
The movement she felt this time was different.
It was no longer gentle or uncertain. It came with a force that made her freeze, a steady, rhythmic pu

THE UNWANTED LIGHT

The night the gods spoke, even the wind held its breath.
In the ancient village of Umueze-Ala, where red earth clung to bare feet and the moon ruled the silence, the elders gathered in the sacred grove of Ọkpụkpụ Chi; the shrine where destinies were unveiled.
No one entered that place without trembling.
At the center sat Dibia Agụnwa, the oldest priest the land had ever known. His body was frail, but his eyes… his eyes had seen beyond time.
Before him lay the sacred tools:
white chalk (nzu)
kola nuts broken in sacred patterns
a calabash filled with water that reflected not faces… but truths
A sudden wind swept through the trees.
The flames danced wildly.
Then,
Agụnwa screamed.
Not a cry of pain…
But of revelation.
The elders froze.
Even the insects went silent.
Slowly, the old priest began to speak, his voice no longer his own:
“A child comes…
A child wrapped in light…
Born of a reluctant seed…
A son who will lift a fallen house…
But… the father…
The father will call him a curse.”
A heavy silence dropped like a stone into the gathering.
Chief Nduka, a strong and feared warrior, clenched his jaw.
His name had not been mentioned…
But everyone turned to look at him.
Because everyone knew.
His wife, Ifeoma, had been barren for many seasons.
And now… she had just begun to show signs of life in her womb.
Nduka’s voice cut through the air:
“Then the gods have made a mistake.”
Gasps.
No man spoke against prophecy.
But Nduka stood, tall and defiant, his shadow stretching like a challenge against the shrine fire.
“I did not ask for a child that will bring me shame.
Let the gods take back what is theirs.”
A thunderous crack split the sky.
The calabash before Agụnwa shattered on its own.
Water spilled… forming a shape on the ground.
A child.
Surrounded by flames.
The priest’s voice dropped into a whisper:
“What the gods send…
No man rejects… and lives in peace.”
Nduka turned and walked into the darkness without bowing.
Without fear
*Tobecontinued*

🥺 One day… this will all stop
The noise
The “Mummy watch me!”
The random hugs
And the house will be quiet again.
Don’t rush it.
👉 What’s one thing your child does that you never want to end? ❤️

About yesterday…
Children may forget your instructions…
But they remember your behavior.
That means: How you react = what they learn.
Deep, right?
👉 What’s one habit you’re trying to improve as a parent?

👀 I’ve been observing something about children…
They don’t always listen to what we say…
But they copy EVERYTHING we do.
That realization changed me.
I’ll explain tomorrow…
👉 Do you agree or disagree?

😅 Let’s see who can relate…
You plan your day as a parent…
Then your child wakes up and cancels everything with their own plans. 😭
This tiny humans has proven to own the right to sack your plans and peace without your consent.
At this point, we are just “managing chaos.”
👉 What did your child scatter today? Be honest 😂

🚨 I disappeared… but I’m back.
Life happened. Parenting happened. Growth happened.
But I’ve missed this space… and YOU.
No long story (for now)…
Just know: I’m coming back with something better.
👉 If you’re still here, just comment “I’m here” ❤️

Gone are the days people look for irresponsible fathers when they grow up.
If you cut ties when they were little or even before they were born, be ready to stay wherever you are forever.

Some mornings, I wake up and just want to roll over and pretend the day isn’t waiting for me. But no, Mikky is up; Hungry, Energetic, Needing me.

Breakfast needs to be made (sometimes with one eye open), diapers needs changing, toys need rescuing, feelings need soothing, and somehow, I’m supposed to be emotionally, psychologically, and mentally available, all at once.

It’s not just the physical tiredness, it’s the constant pouring out of myself to meet Mikky’s needs. And I do it alone. No tag team! No backup. Just me, this big love in my heart, and a little boy who depends on it every single day.

To every mum out there doing this solo, I see you. I feel you. Some days are overwhelming. Some nights are long. But guess what? You’re doing an amazing job. Your strength is not in perfection, it’s in the showing up. Again and again.

Let’s keep going. One day, all this love and effort will bloom into something even more beautiful than we imagined.

There is a greener side. And we’re walking towards it. One tired, loving step at a time. 💛

Every night, without fail, Mikky (a whole 2-year-old CEO of cuddles) must inspect my body like it's a mattress made in heaven.

Pillow? Nah.
Teddy bear? Who?
He wants Mummy’s arm as headrest, tummy as mattress, and leg as blanket. 🙄

One night, I tried to sneak a little space. Just small shift.

This boy opened one eye like a detective on night duty:
“Mummy where you going?” 😳
Sir, I'm just trying to breathe!

Before I could blink, he re-arranged himself like a professional contortionist and tucked right back on me.

And there I lay… body numb, but heart full. 🥹

Someone please tell me, is this sleep or hostage situation? 😂

Well, I kno for sure that … this phase won’t last forever. So for now, I’ll just enjoy my little clingy heater while it lasts.
😂

My only problem right now is that MOTHERHOOD was not well explained to me 🙂🙂

Me: “Mikky, it’s bath time!”

Mikky: without blinking “No.”

Me: “Come on now, you played all day. You have sand on your neck and biscuits in your ear!”

Mikky: “I like it.”

Me: “You like the sand on your neck?”

Mikky: “Yes. I’m building house.”

Me: “Mikky, the sand is on your body, not the floor.”

Mikky: “Yes. It’s my own sand.”

Me: “Okay, what if we make bath time fun? I’ll bring some sea creatures!”

Mikky: “And biscuit?”

Me: “Biscuit in the bathroom?”

Mikky: “Yes. Biscuit and water. Like tea.”

Me: “Mikky, no. That can't be tea,

Mikky: now running “No baffing! I’m clean already!”

Mikky: “Just wash my leg. Small. Small. Only leg.”

Me: “You need a full wash, baby.”

Mikky: “Okay. But don’t touch my belly. My belly is busy.”

Busy with what, I don’t know.

Eventually, I manage to scrub him while singing Cocomelon and dodging soap attacks.

And when it’s all done?

Mikky: smiling sweetly, wrapped in towel “Mummy, I want baff again.”

😮‍💨

Motherhood. A full-time comedy show, no rehearsal.

💦 What’s bath time like in your house? I need to know I’m not alone in this toddler telenovela 😂🛁