Copyright © 2016 by Jodi
    All rights reserved. This story may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
    without the express written permission of the writer.

    It was the D-day we had all waited for. The day my eldest brother got married, my happiness had...

    Copyright © 2016 by Jodi
    All rights reserved. This story may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
    without the express written permission of the writer.

    It was the D-day we had all waited for. The day my eldest brother got married, my happiness had known no bounds. Preparations had been on for ages, we all had done our best to see to its success.
    Dapped in my well tailored Iro and Buba with gele that pointed to high heavens, I was all smiles as I walked into the Church; the world seemed to be at a standstill for me, I slay always. Feeling myself, I catwalked to the third row where a seat had been reserved for me and sat gracefully. I enjoyed the attention I got.

    The sermon was getting too long and I couldn't help but think of all the delicacies prepared for the day, oh how I loved food. What seemed like eternity eventually came to an end when the priest pronounced my brother and his big, black and beautiful 'orobo' wife the latest couple in town. We all clapped, cheered and danced, it was such a beautiful moment. That day, I got convinced that size truly doesn't matter, my sister-in-law gave all the 'Agbani Darego's' present a run for their money.

    We moved to the venue of the reception and were greeted with the blaring sound of highlife music from the band of legendary King Sunny Ade, it was heavenly. I danced, rocked and rolled. I hardly sat down for two minutes. It was dance, dance and dance - and well, exchanging pleasantries - sometimes, that gets boring; it felt like a chore, haaa!
    I forgot about my initial hunger until item 7 was announced. Food! I couldn't resist it, I love to eat and when I do, I eat like a King - Solomon's portion can't be compared to how much I can devour. Little wonder my Mother nicknamed me GP tank while my Sister calls me Storex at will, such betrayal! Let me not remember that my Mother's talker of an aunt that hails me anytime she comes visiting. 'Uh-um, Konga Konga' she would always say. 'But I am not a well', I always retort to which she would say, 'True, I underrate you so much, you can hold more than a well in this your small stomach. Lake!' I prayed not to come across her at the wedding but my prayer was not answered. She was right there, surprisingly though, calmly sitted. I later found out she had been duped of a huge sum of money three days earlier. Awww, such pity. I still thanked my stars no one would disturb me while eating.

    I ate to my fill at my Brother's wedding reception, no food passed me by. From the small chops to jollof rice to pounded yam and efo riro to sushi to cake to fruit salad to ice cream to sweets, I couldn't just resist. I also drank to my fill until I almost puked and gave a loud belch. I looked for a comfortable space and dozed off. I needed it so badly, I was too heavy to walk about.
    I got up to go to the ladies when I ran into an old family friend. 'This loquacious matter', I thought, not very pleased to see her.

    'Lara, you look fabulous in your pregnancy, I didn't know you were expecting' she said.

    'Oh really', I frowned.

    'How far gone are you?

    'Seven months'

    '... Wow, and the baby daddy? Don't tell me it is Umar, I was rooting for you and Ray you know ...'

    As if that statement upset the baby, my water broke and I went into immediate labour. Luckily, my extended family consists of Midwives and Doctors. In no time, I could see amidst the gruelling pains I felt Uncle Layo, Aunty Bisi, Aunty Awawu, My elder Sister - Sister Bidemi and Brother Gbenga. There were some other faces I could not recognise.

    'Her EDD isn't in a month's time, I wonder why she went into labour now' Aunty Awawu, a US trained Midwife who is my Father's twin sister said.

    'We have to rush her to a nearby hospital, though we have here qualified doctors and nurses but no one prepared to deliver a seven months old baby on Ola's wedding day' chipped in Uncle Layo, our Paediatric Surgeon extraordinaire.

    'Moreover we don't want her using that her Konga mouth to shout this place down' joked Aunty Bisi. Really Aunty Bisi? She just had to bring that up despite the fact that she is mourning her missing millions.

    I felt a sharp pain and screamed, I couldn't take it any more. It felt as though I needed to pass out excreta. The feeling of discomfort was too much, I tried to hold myself from pushing but Aunty Awawu pressed further as she positioned herself in an experienced manner ready to catch the baby any time it pops 'You have to push further, I see a crown, pushhh puussshhhh'
    With the last energy I could muster, I gave a hard push and out came the baby. What a relief!
    Before I could hear the baby's cry, I passed out.

    Someone must have sprinkled water on me or so I thought. I opened my eyes, weak from the supposed labour pain I felt. I turned my legs slightly , trying to get up and felt a warm substance in between my legs, I touched it with my left palm, but I was too weak to raise my hand to see it. It was sticky. Blood? Haven't I been cleaned up? I asked myself.

    My baby, where is my baby? No one answered. I noticed the same faces that had gathered to deliver me of the baby still standing in the exact position, looking down at me but this time with disgust written all over their faces while they put their palms over their noses. It was then I realised that I had been in a dream, there was no delivery. Heck! I wasn't even pregnant. I had overfed myself.
    There was a foul smell in the air so I copied them using my right hand but I noticed they were all looking in the same direction. What I didn't understand was why it was in my direction, below my abdomen. I felt uneasy and decided to lower my gaze to where they were looking. It was then it dawned on me that I had just touched my own poop.

    I let out a choking sound and feigned passing out. That was the only way out, I thought and it worked. My heartbeat had tripled. 'Her pulse is too high, have this key Sola, get me my emergency work box, we have to fix her on a drip, she is dehydrated. I think she has diarrhea. It is no fault of hers that she messed herself up, I mean take a look, vomiting, sweating profusely, running feverish and defecating uncontrollably with an unstable pulse are all indicators of any of dysentery, diarrhea and cholera. I am suspecting diarrhea' Uncle Layo said. Continuing, he firmly said no one should blame me yet, blames would be shifted later. I heaved a heavy sigh hoping no one had noticed. I was later rushed to the Hospital. I saved myself from the embarrassment that I deserved. Lucky me!

    That day remains etched in my memory forever and since then, I had learnt to eat in moderation and look the other way if the temptation becomes too much. The only other time I ate too much after that incident, I had a saviour with me, a satchet of Tetracycline capsules. Once beaten, twice shy!

    Moral of the Story:
    * Learn to eat in moderation.
    * Gluttony is deadly, desist from it.