I must apologize for my outburst
last week. I temporarily "freaked out," as
my daddy says, and forgot myself entirely. It’s not that being born caught
surprise—I simply did not expect it to be quite like that.
I understand more now, and were I to have the same experience again, I believe
I could control my words. Sadly, though, I will never get that second chance.
Daddy tells me I will have experiences in life nearly as traumatic as birth,
and some even more so, but no one can prepare themselves for these events.
I was afraid for a long while that life would not be fun. Mama barely moved,
a motley assortment of women in white uniforms persisted in violently shoving
my face into her breast, and the other babies seemed capable of nothing but
crying. I understand now that the hospital was only a temporary residence.
Mama can walk more now, and carry me with her; I have discerned that her breast
is a source of nourishment; and I may never have to tolerate the presence of
another baby again, thank goodness. I still do not understand what they hoped
to accomplish with their wails. I have found adults (Mama, Daddy, and Granny
in particular) to be quite attentive and perceptive concerning the various
sources of my discomfort. Whether I find myself hungry, dirty, or tired, I
need only voice my feeling momentarily (and at a tolerable volume) before one
of my grownups remedies the situation. Other babies simply scream. Had I been
able to walk in the hospital, perhaps I could have intimidated them into hushing—I
outweighed them all by an average of three pounds—but alas, I am just a baby
I hope I still express myself adequately. When I lived inside Mama,
I could focus every bit of my energy on thinking. Now I must devote nearly
all of my attention to learning how to eat, and it is exhausting. Before birth,
I did not have to work for my sustenance. Now I must use every bit of my considerable
strength just to get a few drops of milk. My remaining strength I reserve for
rebellion against diaper changes and the rare moments when I need to cry. As
a result, I have little energy for anything else and sleep for most of the
Disordered as my thoughts are right now, I just realized I started out apologizing
for letting language and emotion control me rather than the other way around.
I do hope I did not offend anyone (though Granny still seems a little miffed
at a few of my words); I feel sure that everyone who remembers their own birth