She was hot in the cold; her clothes were drenched in sweat. There was a full moon that night, it released its pitches of ice. My father believes that the moon can make water cold; I decided to place my bath water on the moon. Adanna and Obiora had sojourned the dream world; they were students and needed to sleep on time to wake up early. I was a free bird then, but now, I am struggling to meet up with lectures at a University in Nsukka.

"Ebube, please, make me a pounded yam." She requested. To make a pounded yam at such an hour of the night was something I never knew how to go about. In order not to discomfort the neighborhood, I placed the mortar on a heap of rags so that its sonority wouldn't go far.

"I am tired," I muttered under my breath. A few minutes before an hour, I was done. 
"Where should I serve the food? At the dining table or here?" I asked. 
"My dear, please, I am sorry. It is already late, leave it till tomorrow morning. However, get me a cup of hot tea." She said with her right palm, wiping off the bead of sweat that had formed around her forehead.

She was in pain; I could tell from her constant adjustment. She massaged her hips with a vociferous sigh as she breathed so loudly. 
"Is the tea ready?" She asked. I stretched my right hand to pass the ceramic cup. 
"Hold it! I can't take it hot; I need it to be cold." She retorted. 
"I thought she demanded a hot tea," I asked myself. 
The clock yawned, stretching its hands to one, I needed to sleep, too. I worked down the street as a form of industriousness; my parents hated idleness. 
"It's cold, ma; you can now drink it," I said, but never received a response. 
"Ma!" I called. I patted her shoulder. I called. 
"What's the problem?" Her voice was too weak. It was as if the light that glared from her eyes dwindled. 
"Here is your tea; It is cold." 
"Pour it away, I don't feel like drinking it anymore." 
"Pardon." I beseeched.
"Pour it out! I will eat something else later." She said and reclined on the couch with her legs spread apart as she lifted her chest. Her clothes were drenched more as if she had urinated on herself. 
"What's that?" I asked at the sight of a liquid flowing down her legs. 
"Does mummy pee?" I perceived an offensive smell.  
"Argh! Get me a baff full of water!" She demanded as she struggled to stand. My water was almost freezing; I love to bathe with a lot of water, so I poured the water into the baff and brought it before her.

"Undress me, please." She requested.
I undressed her and aided her to sit inside the baff of cold water. She breathed so hard and I got scared. The breath intensified accompanied by a disturbing lamentation. Something crept into my mind, I have seen this in a movie, Apocalypto. Her phone was off and I don't have any. I couldn't reach for my dad who traveled for a friend's wedding in Owerri.

"Mama Ezinne should be in her room." I rushed to her door and left a startling knock on it, yelling for aid. 
"Who is there?" She asked softly. 
"It's me Ebube! My mother is dying!" I retorted.
She exclaimed. In a moment, the door opened, and she rushed out, both her hands were trying to adjust the wrapper around her fallen bosom.

"Nne, where is she?" 
"She is in the room." We entered the room and were blown away. My mother was carrying something akin to the flesh of an unfeathered cock in an oblivious state. I was startled, but the cry made me understand something had happened.

"It is a boy," I said when I beheld the sight of a little long flesh between the legs. 
"What's that rope, ma?" I asked Mama Ezinne. 
"It is a cord. In the morning, I will explain better. Boil water for her, your mother has put to birth."

I thought they said motherhood is a beautiful thing. Could it be that the beauty lies in the pain? I'm seventeen, and one day, I will become a mother. Must I pass through this to prove my worth? What if I opt for surrogacy?