IN THE MIDDLE, THERE WAS A BIRTHING

They call it morning sickness; I call it hell. Once we got over the hurdle of deciding to keep the babies (after discovering it wasn’t just a baby, but babies), we were confronted by a fierce frenemy—the fetuses themselves. In those early days, I watched my wife fight for her life while her body gradually changed.

I had never seen her in so much distress as I did during the first trimester. There was one particular day when the puking led to a total emotional breakdown, and I thought to myself, “Is it worth it?” She couldn’t eat the things she usually liked because her body rejected everything—and she’s already a picky eater, which made things worse.

There were constant mood swings and fights. I wish I had been more understanding during this period, but that wasn’t always the case. My body may not have undergone changes, but my life certainly was, and the physical and emotional demands placed on me were ever-increasing—and often unnoticed. I broke down sometimes, and that didn’t help at all.

The second trimester was a lot better. My wife’s body began to adjust to the idea of accommodating two aliens. Most people in our community (and even at work) didn’t know she was pregnant—her baby bump wasn’t visible—until the second trimester.

There was even a period when she began to look and feel better. The puking had stopped, her acne disappeared, and we fought less thanks to her improved mood. This was the best time of the entire pregnancy—but it was short-lived.

We thought our dark days were behind us, but little did we know the third trimester had other plans. It was as bad as the first. There was constant kicking and contractions. At some point, my wife started to develop hyperpigmentation, and the fights continued—right up to a week before the babies arrived.

There were good moments as well—and if I’m being honest, they outnumbered the bad ones. This was the period when the babies were no longer just an idea. We could feel them, and that was all that mattered. And when they arrived, it was glorious.

I was present during the delivery, and what I witnessed in those five hours of labor dwarfed everything we had endured in the previous eight months. I saw my wife go through a level of pain I didn’t think was humanly possible. It was intense. It was raw. And I felt helpless for the most part because there was nothing I could do to truly soothe her.

However, when we finally got to hold our babies, nothing else mattered. I don’t know about my wife, but in that moment, I felt love for the first time. I finally had something worth dying for—and more importantly, something worth living for.

In retrospect, it’s funny how something so beautiful came from so much chaos. It all made sense when the babies arrived. I don’t want to go through this journey again—but it was worth it. None of it would have been possible without my wife.

So, on behalf of myself and our kids, I say, “Thank you.”