On the eve of the 23rd of December, I took what would be my last long shower for a long time to come. I had a planned induction for that evening and was set to hold my princess in my arms a few hours later. 

She was not having it. We tricked, we stood, we danced, we laughed, but she was quite comfy in mummy's belly. Fast forward 24 hours, yes 24 hours, at 11.38pm. I was advised I would need an emergency C-section. I asked them if they could get it done in 22 minutes before it would hit Christmas so that her future birthdays wouldn't be doomed,  but alas, my little girl was determined to be a Christmas baby. I recall riding up the hallways and holding the anaesthesiologist's hand and not my husband's because I honestly cared about him more at that moment. Also, my husband was responsible for this predicament I was in. 

At exactly 41 minutes past midnight on the 25th of December, in a room full of smiling, cheerful nurses and doctors, little Keneoue let out her first cries, and I balled my eyes out. They lay her on my still body, subdued from the surgery, and boy, did I hug her with all the love I had within me. I kissed her full-blown Afro straight out of the belly! 

I'm a bit of a Christmas romantic, and this was the best Christmas love story I could have ever experienced. I sang Christmas carols out loud from about August, and I spent the next day singing all of them to my precious, delicious little girl for her first Christmas in this brand-new world. She was just adored by anyone who set eyes on her, and as the first Christmas baby in the hospital, she was special. I moaned and moaned when I first found out my due date during Christmas time. I couldn't believe how unlucky we were. But now, I've realised we couldn't have asked for a better blessing on this day, what a prize! Oh, Holy night! She is now a beaming, and I mean beaming little ray of sunshine. Happy birthday to all the other very, very special Christmas bubbas, and Merry Christmas to you all ❤️