Give Me A Three

I want a baby, a third baby. I want the baby to be a girl so I can name her after my mother. I want to have her before I turn 40 next year, Inshallah, in October.

After her, this third baby, I will peacefully close this chapter of birthing babies and shift all my focus to nurturing them.

I’ve been announcing this intimate disconcerting desire to whoever cares to listen.

I said it to the plumber, that soft-voiced chap with the broad shoulders who came to replace the leaking kitchen faucet, a man too brawny for his hustle. I said it to the chap from City Market delivering our meat, meat so fresh you could hear the slaughterhouse echoes from the gunny bag.

I said it to that grizzly born-again lady at Toi Market, the one who sells bath mats, the matching ones that reek of insincerity, the ones she promised are second-hand but which are not. She sold me the mats then prayed for my womb, she refused to give me a discount though.

There’s a boda boda rider I absentmindedly cut off in traffic the other day, on Ngong Road, he elbowed my side-mirror in disgust as he whizzed past. I wanted to roll down my window and shout, ‘It’s because I want another baby.’


Now I’m saying it to you: I want a third baby – GB and I already have our two children, she’s seven, he’s two, the lengthy gap between them is filled with the dark hopeless stories of pregnancies that never made it past the first trimester.

The befores, the in-betweens, the afters.

I have had too many to count.

I carry them all in my heart so no one can take them away from me.

I’m a 38-year-old urban girl and the chances of me carrying a pregnancy to term and bringing that baby home dwindle significantly by the months.

I’m a high-risk carrier. An improbability. The odds are stacked against me.

My gynaecologist explained it to me in all his medical lingo and in the context of my medical history.

What I picked up from him is that my body has bad eggs and good eggs. The older I get the fewer the good eggs. At some point, I imagine that the only eggs I’ll have are bad eggs. I think I’m already at that point.

I think.

Still, I foolishly cling on to the reasons why I want another baby. There are just two.

First, there is no greater joy than seeing our two children growing up together and hanging out, chuckling one minute then the next they’re fighting over who gets the TV remote or the iPad. ‘It’s mine!’

It’s also nice when you have a brother or sister to do life with. Your own little gang, your person.

I have many sisters and my brothers have each other, our lives together are like going on a never-ending road trip with a bus full of colourful personalities. You can get off the bus but you can never leave.

You can get off the bus but you can never leave.

I watch our children together and I hear Mother Nature whispering in my ears, taunting me, ‘Go on, Bett, upend your life all over again. Gain weight and lose sleep. Ignore all your old relationships and focus on the new one with the new baby. Pause your career, your business – pause your life to give another life.’

The other reason I want a baby is because I’m grieving and I’m lonely – I want a baby to ease my grief and loneliness.

I’ve had two best friends since I was 16 but they are no longer here with me. One friend relocated with her husband and two children to another country in August 2021. The other friend died in April 2022.

I feel like they left me here all alone, it breaks my heart that I’m living my life without them in it.

God, I miss my friends. Everyone needs their own close friend. For us women especially, there’s a warmth and security, a child-like glee and freedom of self that your girlfriends bring into your life.

It’s wholesome and nourishing to your heart and soul. To the balance of your wellbeing.

There are some things I cannot tell my husband or my sisters, never mind how close we are. The only people I can empty myself to – uncensored, unfiltered – are my girls. I didn’t comprehend this until they were both gone.

I didn’t comprehend this until they were both gone.

Having a baby will be a way for me to cope with my grief and loneliness. Something to redirect my time and energy to. A project to distract me.

I hear you saying, ‘That’s not the way to address this, Bett. You know that. Plus, if it’s a project you want so badly, why don’t you just pursue something else?’

That’s the question I also ask myself.

Many have told me that I ought to be grateful for my two healthy babies. That they know a couple who have been together for donkey years and have been trying and trying for a child with no success.

(Well, to be fair, everyone knows a couple who knows a couple. Still.)

I am grateful.

Every single moment, I am grateful.

My gratitude sits right next to my grief and loneliness.

It’s a complex and fascinating contradiction that oscillates unannounced between one extreme to the other.

It’s intense, this oscillation, difficult to comprehend. It’s what has brought me here, it’s what makes me me.

I am a Libra, after all, I’m constantly seeking balance.

My mentor said to me, ‘Your plan was to have three children Do-Re-Mi, two girls then a boy. Is that right?’

I nodded.

He carried on, ‘But God’s plan was for you to have Muna and Njeeh, five years apart. Accept God’s plan and love the two children He has given you. He has other plans for your life.’

An edited version of this story first ran in the Saturday Nation on April 22, 2023. It ran under my ‘Culture’ column.

Photo by Jiyeon Park on Unsplash

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Florence Bett-Kinyatti


Columnist Saturday Nation Writer Craft It Author of best-selling ‘SHOULD I?’ and ‘HOW MUCH?’ ~ Guiding word: Overdrive Subscribe to our Newsletter👇🏾 eepurl.com/igmN8P
  • Dear God, 
It’s me again.

I don’t pray as often as I need to, You know that. I don’t kneel by my bed in child-like humility, as Muna does. I don’t whisper a prayer in the morning. Or at noon. Perhaps just in the evening. 

This going-to-church habit is a constant false start. So is reading the Word. 

I’m often guilty but I also know: You and I have a language only we can understand. 

I speak to You through this gift You bestowed upon my Kale shoulders, this gift to write in colour. It’s a gift that sometimes feels like a curse, a burden I have no choice but to pursue. 

Yet other times – most times, actually – it’s the very breath of my essence. Everyday I sit to write, when the words flow from my head and heart through my fingers to the page, I feel You next to me. 

You are here, Lord. Hovering. Lingering. Swooshing about in Your regal robes, like a character from Bridgerton.

Sometimes You get so close I can feel You breathing on my neck and I’m like, ‘Err, God, do You mind, personal space?’

And You chuckle uncomfortably. ‘He-he, of course. Of course.’

I’m here to tell You, Thanks!

I hosted my first in-person event last March, Lord, thank You to all the lovely ladies who granted me their time and full attention. 

I’ve carried them in my heart since and every day, my prayer is that You bring them closer to the life of abundance they each seek. To their own version of wealth. 

I always call them by their name: Becky. Purity. Lindsay. Wangui. Naomi. Shiqow. Mercy. Liz. Winnie. Polly. Nduta. Lynet. 

And Mike. 

Dear Lord, I’m prepping for my next in-person event in June, Inshallah. 

Walk with me as I get there. 

Love always,

  • Highlights from our first-ever in person event hosted by Craft It and @financialfitbit 
Thanks to all the lovely ladies — and gent, hehe — who honoured us with the privilege of their time and attention. And colourful energy. It’s been weeks since and it’s only now that I’m coming down from the high. 

Thank YOU!

🎥 @mikemuthaka 

#craftit #author #MakeYourMoneyMatter #personalfinance #money
  • I am a woman.

I’m strong. I’m brilliant. I’m like a comet shooting across the sky, I’m so bright you have to put on shades to see me.

I’m almost 40, I’m almost fully realising myself as a woman and the power of womanhood I possess.

I’m so powerful that if KPLC connected me to the national grid, I’d power up this country and we’d never have another blackout.

Ho! Ho! Ho!


To recognize and celebrate International Women’s Day today, I’d like to recognize and celebrate eight women.

I have eight things to give away to each of these women:
a) Two tickets to my upcoming event on March 18 with @financialfitbit Theme is ‘Make your money matter’
b) Three autographed copies of my book ‘Should I?’
c) Three autographed copies of my other book ‘How Much?’

To participate:
1. Like this post
2. Tag women who deserve a win of either event ticket or book (tag as many women as you like)
3. Tell us what you’d like her to win and why she deserves the win
4. Make sure your tagged women follow @_craftit and @financialfitbit 

Here are the rules for the giveaway:
— One woman, one win
— Winners will be contacted via DM
— Giveaway closes at the end of this week, Inshallah, on Sunday 12 March
— Only open to people living in Kenya

All the best!

(Swipe right to see the women I’m celebrating.)

#craftit #internationalwomensday
  • My 2022 word of the year was Wholesome. 

Wholesome meant engaging in moderation and in pursuits that didn’t leave me feeling yucky.

An example: there’re weekend nights I’d go out then have too much to drink. On the drive home, I’d tell GB to stop the car every half mile so I could throw up on the side of the road. Then I’d take three working days recovering. 


No more of that nonsense.

Now I have only two doubles of Singleton whiskey and chase it with water. I eat less food and I eat better. I take my supplements. I treat myself to an early bedtime and arise with my body clock, no alarm.

I spend a lot more time hanging with my kids, Muna and Njeeh. 

I buy fewer things. 

I play the piano. 

I created a disciplined routine for my work and take Thursdays off. 

You catch my drift…

Wholesome has become my lifestyle. 

(By the way, I was asked, ‘Where does this word-of-the-year come from, Bett?’ I don’t know about other people but for me, the words present themselves when I’m journaling. My spirit tells me what it needs; I must be still enough to listen and brave enough to obey.)

My word for 2023 is Overdrive.

My two books have unlocked new opportunities for me as a writer and creative. As an urban brand. I’d honestly not foreseen them. 

I know that if I adjust my sails to where the wind is blowing, these opportunities will translate to wealth.

Last Friday, I listed all the work I’m already doing and all the new opportunities – potential and realised – knocking at my door.

I asked myself, ‘What am I taking up here and what am I dropping?’

The response, ‘None – we go into overdrive and smartly pursue them all.’

#craftit #urbanguide
  • Years ago, my best friend said to me, ‘Bett, we’re almost 40 – forget makeup, let’s take care of our skin instead.’

I had to laugh because this was coming from Terry. Terry my Kisii pal, this fine gyal with skin the colour of honey, the only practising SDA in my circle. 

Terry had spent her 20s and early 30s sleek with Arimis. That’s right, the milking jelly with a lactating cow on its logo. 

Arimis addressed all her skin pickles back then. It was her problem fixer. Her Olivia Pope. It’s the one thing that always said, It’s handled.

Now here she was preaching to us about a consistent skincare regimen in the AM and PM.


It wasn’t until Terry shared her selfies on our girls WhatsApp group that I stopped laughing. It wasn’t until we stood next her – and took these selfies – that I reeally stopped laughing: Terry’s skin was youthful and toned, plump. Hydrated. Moistured but not shiny. 

It looked like it had been kissed by the Greek goddess of radiance. 

So we gathered around her feet and said, ‘Forgive us, master. We are ready now. Teach us everything you know.’

She did. 

Terry and I now spend plenty of time before work and before bed squeezing out little portions of expensive skincare products from expensive tubes, we layer them on our face in a calculated measure.

This serum here is for the circles under my eyes and the fine lines around my mouth.

Turns out I’ve been giving away too much of my face: I’ve been looking too hard, laughing too easily.

I’ll have to spend the next year into my 40s with my eyes half shut and laughing little. I'll have a resting bitch face.

Don’t blame me, blame the retinol.

And age.

#craftit #urbanguide #urbangirl
  • I’m Bett. I’m the author of your favourite books about money. I’m hosting an in-person event in March, Inshallah: This is my personal invite to you.

#craftit #moneymaker #moneyinkenya
  • I am hosting my first money event this March, Inhsallah. It’s the first of quarterly events I have planned for the year. 

(Give me a moment here so I pull myself together long enough to write this. I’m smiling very hard right now, ha-ha, I look like a donkey.)


The event will be in-person. On a Saturday morning, a loose three hours which, I am certain, you’d have burned on some other pursuit you couldn’t account for later. (I’d probably be oiling the hinges of a squeaky door or decluttering my sock drawer.)

My guest host for this edition is Lynet Kyalo. 

Lynet is a personal finance coach under her brand @financialfitbit She also hosts @getyourbagrightpodcast 

Buy your tickets from our Market.

Early bird tickets are discounted until the end of this month.

Limited slots available. 

#craftit #millenialmoney #moneyevent #moneymaker
  • Sometimes I sit down and read my own book. 

Odd, huh?

Reading my own stories is like an out-of-body experience. Or getting introduced to myself again. An outward journey inward.

It’s fascinating.

I also read because I need to improve my writing for my next project.

We call them the Elements of Craft: things like sentence structure and punctuation, word placement, story length etc, they all inform your reading experience.

This is what makes the book easy to read, and has you turning the pages.

Cop your autographed copy and #betteryourmoney 

#craftit #howmuch #millenialmoney #moneymaker

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