In the wee hours of the morning on Tuesday November 12, 2024, I woke up to kicks in my tummy and a strong urge to urinate. At eight months pregnant, this was the “annoying” norm I’d become accustomed to.

It wasn’t until I made it to the bathroom that I realised my water had broken and the baby was coming sooner than any of us had planned for, three whole weeks to be exact.

At an intimate gender reveal party several months earlier, we learned that we would soon welcome a boy, our son to join his big sister Faren. Unlike the news of her existence, it took us forever to land on a name for him.

In fact, we didn’t cement his name until about two days after his birth. So this unnamed boy didn’t care that we weren’t quite prepared for his arrival, he was coming anyways!

After a few phone calls and some emergency planning, I found myself in a hospital bed at 2:30 a.m., two centimeters dilated and writhing in pain. The labor and delivery happened fairly quickly, so much so, that the doctors said the baby would be here before the epidural I was screaming for could be administered.

So I labored.

Painfully.

At 4:58 a.m. after three strong pushes, we heard his cries: loud, strong and demanding; a strong departure from his tiny five pound frame.

Full eyes, full lips, a full head of hair and filled with so much promise, Faer (pronounced Fy-Air) Bishop Ferguson came early, but he was right on time.

His name is strong, bold and pays homage to a lineage of men who’ve served as priests, pastors and bishops. My husband actually wanted his first name to be Bishop, but I wanted both childrens’ names to start with “F.” I came across the name Faer and instantly fell in love. It paired so well with Bishop, so we opted for that as the middle name.

I was looking forward to sharing a December 3 birthday with him, but he had other plans!

Welcome to the world son-shine!