I have some news.
Beautiful, personal, sacred news. A prayer, really.
It’s something I want to hold close, to nurture quietly, to meditate on and manifest with those who can truly hold me in the light as all this beauty and change unfolds. It’s delicate and fragile. Scary and awe-inspiring. Humbling and deeply profound.
In my Nigerian culture, we don’t really announce this kind of news. It’s meant to be protected. Everything in me resists sharing it publicly—not because I’m not grateful or joyful, but because this feels like one of the few things that truly belongs to me.
The success of Sinners, a project that has gifted me with more than I could imagine, a cast and crew who’ve become like family, and the undeniable support of moviegoers, has also given me a new visibility. I’ll be in the public eye for the coming weeks [during awards season] as we excitedly take our seats amongst our peers, and I will be doing it with an ever-growing bump.
I’ve been advised to get ahead of speculation and questions. Keen eyes mean guesswork has already begun. Is she pregnant? Has she gained weight? What’s with the outfit?
Truthfully, I’d love to just show up as me—a woman who happens to be pregnant—celebrating our powerful film and our amazing team while I protect this most sacred prayer of my life. So I’ve decided to stop trying to camouflage my bump today at the Golden Globes, so me and baby can truly enjoy and embrace the moment fully together.
Baby has seen me through ever so carefully, and I want to celebrate how wonderfully we’ve done together to get here as a team, as demanding as it’s been. In Yoruba, we say Iya ni Wúrà, which means “mother is golden,” so when I saw sketches of this beautiful custom yellow Matthew Reisman, I knew it was the right dress and the right moment.
Maybe it’s naive, but with scrutiny around women’s bodies, I wish we could let women simply be. Without dissection. Because it’s never just about bodies or parts. Matrescence is a journey—often a very difficult one. No matter how “easy” a pregnancy may appear, you have no idea what someone has endured to arrive there. The trials. The tears. The tests. We know, in theory, that it isn’t simple—but we don’t practice the gentleness required when speaking about or to someone who is, or might be, or has been, or is trying to become pregnant.
And pregnancy is not the end of the journey. Quite frankly, it’s far from it.
For many, peace comes once a baby is placed on their chest. For Black mothers, the path to peace is rarely that simple. Pregnancy and birth carry its own battles and terrifying statistics. I personally know that with my first child I didn’t feel truly safe—truly able to exhale—until I received the all-clear from my ob-gyn.
Being pregnant as a Black woman, you’re not just worrying about whether your baby will be okay: You’re praying you will be too. Holding joy and fear at the same time is not abstract; it’s rooted in lived experience, medical bias, and real statistics. Black maternal mortality is always on our minds. Pregnancy and labor are among the most extreme and dangerous things a person can naturally endure. I wish we truly honored that: the vulnerability, the anxiety, the anticipation, the profound transformation in motion. We remember the mothers who were ignored, who had traumatic labors, and the precious lives lost.
As my nausea slowly wanes, and the fatigue eases (I’m convinced whoever called this the “blissful trimester” never experienced it), I spend my days chasing after my toddler, a welcomed distraction from the business of work, and enjoy this continued excitement for Sinners. I’m also pouring my heart into something new—a clothing line for mothers called Iyadé—which means “mother has arrived” in Yoruba. Born from my own lived experience, it’s about honoring bodies in transition—offering comfort, dignity, and beauty through every phase of this journey. Centering and celebrating the creators who make life possible.
So all of that to say: This is my anti-announcement pregnancy announcement. Sacred. And scared. Say a prayer for a safe arrival and recovery.
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