Our lives are different, just like no two people are the same.
For a good life, do not compare your marriage to another’s.
There will be situations you may never understand. Supporting each other through every situation, knowing that it can truly be different strokes for different folks.
Look at the instance below.
CLEARLY, DIFFERENT STROKES…
Bisi’s pregnancy test came out positive.
Angry at herself, she throws the test stick into the bin next to the water system.
“Oh Lord!” She thought. “How careless, this is so stupid, the third mistake in a year. How do I even tell Doctor Akin? How can I be so stupid and careless? Who wants to listen to your excuses this time, Bisi?”
She smears her hands with the wet hour glass shaped toilet soap she had bought at the same pharmacy she got the test strip. She puts on the tap and starts to wash her hands carefully.
She struts carefully past the bathroom door grabbing the hand towel and gently dries the wetness off her soft hands.
She dumps the towel on her Italian satin bed sheet, and then gently grabs her phone.
She dials his number and waits for him to speak, returning her phone to the same bed.
She gets her expensive organic hand cream and begins to massage a generous amount into her palm and hands.
“Hello Bisi,” came his baritone voice.
“Hello Akin, it’s me again………em…I know you said….I know you have told me……..” Bisi stuttered.
“Oh no, Bisi, don’t.” He said as soon as he seem to have known what she was finding difficult to spit out.
You can tell he is dissapointed at her difficult announcement.
“I don’t know how it happened, I swear, I can’t even tell my husband ……. See I think I’ll be having another D and C, please, urgently.” She said softly almost like she was going to sob.
“Oh! What do you want me to say to you my friend? Go, have an ultrasound and see me afterwards.” Doctor Akin replied.
Embarrassed at his tone, she began to shake her head.
“Thanks, you are a darling, a true….”
She continued to speak but he had hung up.
He must be as dissapointed as Bisi herself was.
She can not afford to have a third child, no.
She and Fred have plans for only two kids and that they already have.
Two boys, Edward, four and Edwin who is five.
More so, her career is only just picking up. Another pregnancy would be a disaster, she agrees.
She can’t imagine herself with a growing, bulging belly, going to work.
Spitting, throwing up and getting all sick like she usually would get once she conceived.
“Oh no, no way.” She retorted, anxious to get it over with. “No.”
She gets into her Gucci midnight blue jeans, a fluid, blousy top.
Something she’d be comfortable in for her ultrasound in a couple of hours.
Nifemi is sprawled on the sparkling, jet black tiled floor of her guest room.
Anguish, disappointment and pain plainly written on her all teary face.
It has been seven good years of marital life with her heartthrob and she’s never been pregnant for once in her entire life.
But for one trails at IVF that failed and shattered her.
This time, she was eight days late and somehow, surprisingly she was hopeful again.
But like it had always turned out, she wasn’t pregnant.
Her monthly flow finally decided to stop playing with her mind, and showed up.