This photo was taken just before our 14-month-old boy, Muhammad, dropped one of his sandals. It had been raining all day—one of those long, moody monsoon days where everything feels damp and sticky. But by evening, after a hectic day for both me (Zeenia) and my husband (Ali), we looked at each other and agreed: let’s just step out and grab a bite. So, despite the weather, despite the puddles and soaked streets, we decided (after a long search) to go try this nearby new café we’d never been to before.

We called an auto and set off, the three of us huddled together with Muhammad on Ali’s lap. We were just outside the road where the café was, nearly there, when we realized—one of Muhammad’s sandals was missing. Just one. We looked around in panic and then, as if on cue, caught a whiff that told us he also needed a diaper change. Parenthood, in all its glory.

We asked the auto driver to turn back and retrace our route. Ali decided to take charge of the sandal mission while I brought Muhammad home for a quick clean-up.

As we pulled up to our building, I saw it—his tiny sandal, right there outside our gate. I called Ali immediately, “Found it! Come back.”

By the time he returned, there was a new surprise—his clothes were stained. Muhammad had been on his lap the whole ride, and well... some things you just can’t plan for. So, eventually, we gave up on the café idea and ordered food home.

This is what parenthood has looked like for us: full of reroutes and second plans, but also full of heart. We had Muhammad within the first year of our marriage, and we were these two people trying to figure it out, one diaper and sleepless night at a time. And yet, it has been the most loving and meaningful journey we could’ve imagined.

We’ve learned patience in a world that constantly wants you to rush. For almost an entire year, the only way Muhammad would sleep was on top of us. That used to feel like a burden—like we were losing time, missing out, stuck. But somewhere along the way, we realized it was the opposite. He was slowing us down. He was teaching us to be. To pause, to breathe, to listen to our own quiet. And now, on days like this, when nothing goes as planned, we’re reminded of the gift it has been to live slower, closer, and with more softness than we ever thought we needed.