I wrote a novel and in the process discovered a greater level of respect and admiration for mothers.

This is probably the closest I would ever come to giving birth to a baby. Like reality, the conception was the easy part. Unlike the average 40 weeks of pregnancy, I carried this baby for 229 weeks and felt it every waking minute.

I was lucky she didn’t bother me with morning sickness. That was a saving grace, but there was constipation in the form of writer’s block. Days would pass without me able to pen a single sentence. There was no nipple discharge, another saving grace, but I suffered from breast or in my case chest engorgement with emotions ─the pitfall of getting emotionally tangled with the characters. Swelling of the legs due to sitting for prolonged periods plagued me on the weekends. Carpal tunnel syndrome, due to repetitive typing, did not spare my poor wrists. I did not have the luxury to take out the wild mood swings on a spouse like some pregnant women tend to do.

It was a lonely emotional roller coaster not from the hormones but from all the rigmarole I put the protagonists through. I craved for desserts. I didn’t mind this one bit as I have a sweet tooth and just needed an excuse to sit and write. It was for her not for me. I wish the calories said the same. I gained 30 pounds in the process of writing.

One cold and rainy Saturday, I woke up early and settled in the comfort of my robe with the laptop when the water broke leading to a flood of inspiration to write. The labor/home stretch lasted about 34 hours of writing non-stop, except for the occasional trip to the loo and the kitchen for a snack. Finally, it happened. There was no epidural, no pain, and alone in the dusk of September 2, 2018, she arrived quietly as I typed “The End” on the white screen. I unplugged the cord from the laptop. There was no after birth to worry about.

I was exhausted but relieved. She weighed 253 pages and measured 154,534 words long. I aptly named her “I have no earthly idea” as I had no clue what to do next. In hindsight, the whole process of conception to pregnancy to the delivery was diametrically opposite to what ensued after the delivery.

I edited my novel and in the process discovered a greater level of respect and appreciation for fathers.

She didn’t cry immediately. Her APGAR score was poor. I examined her and found many flaws. Do I give up on this labor of love? Or do I resuscitate her? Albeit emotionally drained, I stuck by her side while she spent several months in the incubator. Reviving her included multiple rereadings, and the treatment ranged from gentle rewriting to radical resection of several verbosity-tumors. Patience was of paramount importance.

Babysitters came in the form of beta readers who gave valuable feedback of her strengths and weaknesses which further helped me to provide her with fortified nutrition in the form of rephrasing and rearranging sentences. Being too close and emotionally attached, I feared I may have overlooked some of her flaws despite grooming her with a fine-toothed comb. So I took her to a specialist just like a caring father who wants the best for her baby would do. A thorough checkup by a qualified proofreader finally certified her with a clean bill of health. After a new outfit with a custom-designed book cover, she is all ready for adoption.

She is my pride and joy, the apple of my eye, and I am looking for a loving and caring home for her. I hope you will adopt her and welcome her into your home and heart. I promise she wouldn’t disappoint you. Please write a review on Amazon. If you have any questions or seek feedback, please send a message on this website.

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