Went to sleep peacefully on 28th November night, knowing that the next day afternoon I’m going to be force-evicting a tenant who’s lived rent-free, redecorated my insides, and ignored every polite request to leave. But on 29 November at 3:30 am, when even alarms feel illegal, my amniotic fluid decided to pull the ultimate surprise and say, “Surprise! Baby time.” Zero notice. Maximum drama.
Within seconds Papa, Dadi, Motamummy and Mamu went from deep sleep to Olympic-level sprinting. Lights on, bags flying, confusion everywhere. Stella giving me the look—wide-eyed, ears up, utterly scandalized—as if to say, ‘Excuse me, why are you turning the house upside down at this ungodly hour? And somehow, we made it to the hospital in under 20 minutes.
Doctors and Nurses checked everything and said, “All good!” But we chose immediate C-section because we wanted you, our precious baby boy to arrive calm, comfy, and stress-free — not fashionably late or overly dramatic (you have your whole life for that).
And then, at 5:27 AM on 29th November, the tiny boss arrived. Just like that, you promoted us to full-time parents, part-time zombies. From a midnight splash to a grand early-morning entrance, you, our baby boy proved one thing: you make your own schedule — and it starts at 3:30 am 💙
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