As long as I can remember, I have always wanted a family.
A loving husband, rooms scattered with toys, and a house filled with the laughter of my children.
However, not every dream is fulfilled easily.
Motherhood was one of those dreams. It was something I wanted with every atom of my body, yet it always felt so far away from me.
Not only did medical reasons create the distance, but also financial, emotional, and mental ones. While I was struggling quietly, the outside world was not kind.
When Waiting Becomes a Wound
Every day at my workplace, I face countless questions about when I was going to get pregnant. People would point at my stomach to see if I was expecting. If I said I was tired, they would ask, “Are you pregnant?” If I said I was hungry, I would be asked the same question.
As a result, every situation turned into an interrogation.
I tried many times to explain why I hadn’t had a baby yet, but they weren’t listening.
Then, time went by, and in late 2020, I moved to Pakistan from the UAE. The place changed, but the questions remained the same. People I had never met were quick to remind me that I was childless.
Some disguised their words as concern. However, their presence carried judgment.
It took me a very long time to realize they weren’t asking out of curiosity.
Instead, they were asking because they wanted to constantly remind me of the one thing I was missing.
It is sad to say, but apart from my family, there was not a single soul who didn’t make me feel that way. I am sure many will say they never said anything….but they did.
Their side eyes, their gestures, their unspoken words between the lines, excluding me from things multiple times, all of it spoke louder than anything they could say out loud.
Loss Before Light
Then, after so much waiting, I got pregnant with my daughter, and all those “concerned” voices disappeared.
My days were filled with daydreams of tiny clothes, little giggles, and warm snuggles.
But the dream was broken when my daughter passed away suddenly before I could even hold her in my arms.
I was yet again alone.
I did not know how to make sense of it and I cried as I had never cried before. My grief felt endless.
Meeting My Rainbow Baby
And then, exactly one year later, I held my son, Azlan, in my arms.
I saw his face, and just like that, the wounds left by the daggers of people and the broken pieces of my heart after losing my daughter slowly started to heal.
This tiny soul, with the littlest hands and feet, became my healer.
He was my rainbow baby, the gentle light that arrived after the storm.
My rainbow baby’s voice now filled my once-barren home, his toys, his crib, his closet, his swing chair.
I wouldn’t even put him in the crib.
Not because he wanted to sleep in my arms.
But because I needed it.
It was just me and my rainbow baby against the world, our laughter, our games, our silly stories, our moments, just ours.
Turning Love into Stories
Perhaps this is where the idea of writing books based on my son came from.
Not because I wanted to be a famous author.
But because I wanted to stop time in my own way, to press pause and cherish these moments.
Perhaps, in this way, my baby will stay this little forever.
Motherhood showed me my purpose.
Moreover, my rainbow baby showed me what it is like to love someone so much that it hurts.
What Waiting Taught Me
My journey from emptiness to fulfillment was not easy. It was long, painful, and filled with profound loss.
It could have been a little easier if people were more empathetic.
Kindness is free, yet it is rarely shown toward mothers like me.
To every mother, aunt, sister, and friend, I gently say this: if a woman has no child in her arms, let your words not become another test for her heart.
Instead of questions, offer kindness.
Instead of reminders, offer support.
Sometimes, the kindest thing we can do is to stay silent and show sincere care, because only life truly knows what trials each soul is carrying.
Behind every woman’s silence, there may be battles no one can see.
Not every delayed dream is a forgotten dream.
And not every smile means a whole heart.
Today, when I look at my rainbow baby and the stories that were born from our small world together, I see how pain can transform into meaning.
Therefore, I write not just to remember these moments, but also to honor the journey that brought me here.
If you ever meet a woman who is waiting, who has lost, or who is quietly hoping, choose kindness.
Because sometimes, a gentle heart can ease a burden you may never fully understand.
From One Mother to Another
If you remember one thing, let it be this. A rainbow baby does not erase grief. However, they remind you that healing is still possible, and that love can return after loss.
If you would like to step into Azlan’s little world and learn more about the stories born from this journey of love and healing, you can visit the Instagram page and discover the Adventures of Azlan books.
Have advice for moms or a personal story to tell? We’d love to feature your voice on our blog! Share your experiences with us here! We’re always excited to welcome new perspectives and stories from moms like you!
