|Men! They never get these things right. Always focused on the political, from the first instant. Sheez.|
This is what it is really like:
My waterbed and my lovely, soft, stretchy covers are shrinking! It is getting so tight in here, I can't turn, I can't get my thumb back into my mouth, I can't even get a good kick in any more.
Maybe it's time for new digs.
Tight. Too tight. Squeezed. Squeeeeezed! How long does this go on? ... ... ... ... ... ... ...I'm slipping, I'm slipping, I'm cold! Mom!!!! Mom. Here's Mom. Warm, soft, shaped to hold me, hold me, Mommy. I can hear her. Pulsing. Leave me right here. Mommy has me.
Hands! Poking! Cold again! Yuck, cloth. I want skin. I want Mommy. Mom!!!!!!!!!!!!
Ok, here's Mom. Warm...skin...nipple...milk. Mommy. Mommy's voice. Mmmm. Mommy.
One eye opens. So this is that muffled jumble I've been listening to all this time. Hmmm. Too bright. Too white. Hard. Loud!
Eyes closed, tiny mouth nuzzling, tiny hands on Mommy's skin. Sigh of contentment.
His first worldly sleep, that first release of full consciousness; he will awaken already familiar with brighter lights, larger spaces, harder surfaces, and noise, already processing the insistent strength of these new/old stimuli, a naif no more.
But if the new world is still mostly Mommy, what those others call birth isn't too bad. About when I actually came to be, Mommy and I know what we know.