I once was a wild fetus.
( 'Cant Stop, Wont Stop' by Miley Cyrus begins to theme in the background)
For all of my fluttering, my mother thought that maybe, just maybe, I was a soon to be rambunctious baby- boy. While I'm not entirely sure where this pregnant presumption originated, my hyper-active mini-convulsions quickly evolved into brunt kicks to Mom's stomach and then -plot twist- on to the (literal) bouncing of being a baby -girl.
As far as my parents were concerned, I was the world's most active infant. I wriggled when held, flapping my useless little arms and twisting my limp legs as a dedicated declaration of defiance; an omen, much to their chagrin, of what was inevitable in the years to come. Even during the Nirvana of the non-religious, the sliver of peace given to common man, I howled and writhed my tiny wrists in angst, my nearly microscopic veins rushing with all manner of disrespect for the entirety of what is good in this world. If sleep was disgraced, nothing could be redeemed as sacred. We were truly past the point of no return. I think if my parents hadn't birthed a nearly perfect angel of a child ten years prior, the shock of her antithesis of a sibling would not have been so great. But there I was, clearly content to channel all the fiery powers of hell through my small body even in light of her heavenly demeanor. Beth was her name. Ironically, Beth had prayed for my existence for quite some time. I'm sure with this in mind my parents spent many a puffy eyed and sleepless night
questioning the powers that be as to what they had done to deserve such a 'blessing'.
One day, Beth was left home with said blessing. Having requested me into this mortal world, she had more than expected grace for me at the time. But while spending the day together, my exhaustingly hyperactive tendencies fully lent themselves and began to slowly but surely whittle her away. So with all the love in her tired ten year old body, she lowered me into my baby bouncer and walked away -I'm sure for what was to gather back some semblance of her once present sanity. Error. Terrible error. She came back and, what? I was on the floor? Being STILL?? It was clear that in her stupor she forgot to strap me in and well, a baby bouncer, much like its name implies, bounces back and forth. But so did I. Vigorously. Relentlessly, even. And so it was this that enacted the spreading of my scrunchy wings into full flight for a mere moment before flipping seamlessly onto my back and the floor. Ten for Ten from all the judges on my great form. Everything went dark for awhile and when I opened my eyes I was in a strange, shiny place. It turns out that my parents, finding me motionless, silent and peaceful for the first time since my conception, immediately rushed me to the hospital. I mean, the lack of havoc wreaking was cause for concern itself; at this point it was beyond reasonable to assume that I was either dead or in some kind of baby coma. The doctor calmed them down. It turns out that the incident had given them exactly what they wanted because I was actually just sleeping. Restfully. And that was shock enough for an emergency-room run.
So yeah.
I was a wild fetus once.
