After Birth

Parents Of Crying Child Must Not Be Any Good

WOODBURY, MN—Noting how the pair’s failure to promptly resolve the situation was a clear indication of their inability to raise or care for another human being, sources confirmed Friday that the parents of a crying infant must not be any good.

Report: Mom Sending You Something

PORTLAND, ME—Stating that she had put it in the mail this morning and that you should keep an eye out for it, your mother notified you Saturday that she was sending you something, reports confirmed.

A Look At The Class Of 2020

This year’s incoming college freshmen will comprise the graduating class of 2020, with the majority of them born in 1998. Here are some facts and figures about these students and their worldview:
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I'm Tired Of Looking At These Same Four Uterine Walls

My God, I'm bored. I've heard that after the anxiety of separation from the mother and the trauma of birth, all I'll want to do is return to the womb, but I have a hard time believing that. After being cooped up in here for nearly three trimesters, I've gotta dismiss that as outdated Freudian balderdash. Can't this woman gestate a little faster, for Christ's sake? I'm sick of staring at these same four uterine walls.

I'm not even a child yet, and already I'm being treated like one. I'd like to get out and see the sights once in a while. I haven't even had a chance to use my little optic nerves!

Hello? Anybody there? I'm going crazy in here!

And the noise! Sure, the steady pulse of my mother's heartbeat was reassuring at first, but how long can I listen to the same thing? It's "ba boom, ba boom," day in and day out. How about some variation? Would it kill her to throw in a little arrhythmia once in a while?

You might think I'm being a baby, but you try spending 32 weeks holed up in a tiny, one-womb place like this.

Do you have any idea how long I've been curled up in this same position? I seriously need some freakin' elbow room. I've had my arms tucked in under my knees since before I developed fingers. Lemme out!

Oh, how I long to eat just one thing that didn't circulate directly into my system through the tube in my belly. Look at this thing! Don't worry, I know better than to try yanking it off again. Ouch, mama! But I want to be an independent person. If my every need is met automatically, I'll never develop a sense that I have an identity apart from my environment.

And can't a fella get a little fresh air? It'd be so great to breathe something that wasn't liquid for a change. If I could just get out and stretch my legs a little, I might develop some motor skills. At the rate I'm going, my skull's never gonna fuse.

Please, is anybody listening? I kick and kick, but no one lets me out. Gimme some sign that somebody's out there—some sonogram signals, an amniotic tap, anything!

It's not like I can read a magazine or do a crossword puzzle to pass the time—I haven't grasped the abstract concept of language yet.

It feels like this placenta is suffocating me. I mean it... If somebody doesn't get me out of this place, I'm gonna flip and end up breached! Okay, I've had it up to here with gestating.

That's it. I can't take it anymore. Forget about my due date—I'm bustin' outta here. I know the health risks, but you people have incubators, don't you? And no, I'm not gonna wait until you can call a cab. If the supermarket parking lot is where it's gotta happen, then the supermarket parking lot it is. Get ready, world, 'cause I'm gonna bust out, pound the pavement, and make a big splash right now.

After Birth

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