Everything changed- and nothing prepared me. Rahmi’s arrival.

The Quiet Earthquake

The night I became a mother.

I was never supposed to give birth in January. My due date was mid-February. My mom had her flight booked. I had a plan. The baby would come on my terms when the hospital scheduled me and not a second before.

But, of course, life had other ideas.

That night, I was out at a small baby send-off my work threw me at Joey’s. I remember sitting across from a coworker I love, trying to smile through the nausea that had become second nature. My entire pregnancy had been brutal projectile vomiting, acid reflux, sleepless nights, all of it. Honestly, I think I complained my way through nine months. And at that dinner, when I told her my stomach hurt, she laughed and said, “Girl, you’ve been saying that for months.”

I laughed too. But this time felt… different.

We got home, and something shifted. The pain intensified a dull, dragging ache that grew sharper with every breath. I tried to talk myself out of it. Told myself it was nothing that maybe Joey’s chicken wasn’t sitting right. I ran a bath. I took a long shower. I sat in silence and tried to will it away.

But the truth is, I was scared.

Scared it was too early.

Scared it was actually happening.

Scared because I had a planned C-section coming up this wasn’t the plan.

And scared because my mom who had just arrived in Toronto the day before was with us, and I knew she was panicking.

She’s high-anxiety, emotionally intense, and when I rushed to the hospital, I know she was holding her breath the entire time. She called ALL my family, my sister, my brother, my cousins, my uncles, heck she probably even called my dad who I haven't spoken to in years (a story for another time) But even in her own whirlwind of fear, she showed up for me like she always does. And I wouldn’t have survived that night without her.

You see, I live in Toronto now but my soul still lives in Vancouver. That’s where my people are. I moved here for love and for work, and both are beautiful. But truthfully? It’s isolating. Especially when you’re on the brink of something as life-altering as becoming a mother.

The pain became unbearable. I started crying. Shaking. And finally, I looked at my husband my anchor, my calm and said, “Let’s go.”

We rushed to the hospital, and by the time they checked me, I was already five centimeters dilated. The nurse told me I needed to calm down because the baby’s heartbeat was rising. I was hyperventilating, completely overwhelmed. She laid me on my side and tried to reassure me, but I was still barely hanging on when she said:

“You know, you’re already this far… you could do this naturally. Why are you even having a C-section?”

It was the most inappropriate timing imaginable. I was terrified, vulnerable, and in no place to defend my decision a decision made for medical reasons, no less. I wanted to scream, “Read the chart.” But instead, I just stared ahead, trying not to fall apart.

Eventually, they wheeled me into the operating room. My husband couldn’t come in for the epidural, so I was alone shaking, trying not to cry in front of what felt like seven strangers in scrubs. My OBGYN wasn’t there. The room was full of unfamiliar faces. They brought out the needle. Told me to lean forward. Introduced me to the intern who would assist. My anxiety nearly cracked me in half.

But the intern was steady. Gentle. Kind.

She surprised me. She made it easier.

Seconds later, I was completely numb. They lifted my limp legs and moved me onto the table. My husband came in, and they started. It all happened so fast.

And then no more than a minute in I heard it.

A soft, almost shy cry.

He was here.

Our baby.

Everything stopped. The fear, the pain, the noise it all faded. He was absolutely perfect. And we were completely obsessed.

And here’s the twist: When I met my husband, he never wanted kids. He didn’t care for marriage either. It just wasn't something he cared about like I did, and now? He’s the gentlest, most natural father I’ve ever seen. He still doesn't care about marriage, the actual act of getting married, the paper, the idea that we have to be married to be happy, but one thing Adrian will always do is ANYTHING, to make me happy. Watching him with our son has made me fall in love all over again in a deeper, quieter way.

I couldn’t wait to hold our baby. But I had just gone through major surgery, and I had no idea what was waiting for me on the other side. That’s a story for another post.

What I can say is this:

Thank God for my mother.

Even when she’s anxious and overwhelmed even when she’s spiraling she is still my lifeline.

She showed up. She held me. She stayed.

And my mother-in-law, too steady and present.

Together, these women gave me the strength I didn’t know I had.

This night the night everything changed wasn’t what I planned. It was loud, messy, painful, and terrifying.

But it brought me the greatest love I’ve ever known.

And I think that’s the thing about becoming a mother:

You don’t just meet your child.

You meet yourself raw, wild, and brand new.

And this? This was just the beginning.

The part no one really warns you about is what comes after: the healing, the hormones, the overwhelming love tangled with fear and doubt.

All the things I thought I knew about motherhood I’m still learning them in real time.

So this space this blog is where I’ll tell those stories, too.

Because birth isn’t the end of the journey.

It’s the earthquake. And everything after is the aftershock.

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