“Waaaarrngghh!!! Waarrngh!” was heard all round the large delivery ward. I have arrived. Katie Waters arrived grandly. I breathed my first breathes of air with loud gusto.
Then I heard, “One, two, three… ten. Congratulations Mr. and Mrs. Waters, She has ten fingers and ten toes. A perfect baby girl.”
Someone with a familiar voice gently pressed me into her warm chest and kissed my little forehead. A large finger the size of my fist stroked the back of my left hand. I felt safe. I was tired from breathing that cold air. So I slowed down my breathing and dozed off into my first nap outside my mother’s womb.
I guess there is nothing much to share with you on what I did day after day till I turned 1 month old. I pooped, I slept, I fed, I belched, I demanded to be cleaned and the cycle repeated over and over. Once in a while, I’d hear strange voices say, “Oh, she looks like her mother.” And at other times, they’d say, “My, my. She looks just like her daddy.” And yet at other times I’d hear, “Hmm… She doesn’t seem to look like anyone at all. She looks just like herself.”
Today’s the day. That loud party has come around. A few days ago, I heard my parents calling family and friends to tell them that I would be turning 1 month old. That was fast because it felt like all I had been doing was sleep.
There is a lot of “koo-ing” and clucking and handing me around. All I really want is to sleep but those strangers keep nudging my cheeks and my chin. I want them to stop but I don’t know how to make them stop. Oh, I feel so uncomfortable.
Big blurry faces loom near my face and speak with strange voices. I cringe at a bad smell and a strange voice.
I can take it no longer. I am wet. I feel hungry. I want some peace! “Waaaarrngghh!!! Waarrngh!”
A familiar smell. A soothing voice. A gentle touch. I am swooped into my mother’s arms, pressed into her soft bosom, distanced from the noise, the funny smells and the funny sounds. We enter a quiet place.
Ok. It isn’t exactly quiet anymore. You can’t blame me. I cannot help it. I’m so uncomfortable.
Zip zap goes my soiled diapers. Sweep swipe goes the wet towels. Pit pat goes the powder puff. Flip Flap goes my clean diapers. And I still go “Waaaarrngghh!!! Waarrngh!” I want more.
Plip plop goes the milk bottle cap. Shik-shake goes the milk in the bottle. Zoop goes the milk bottle tit into my wide open mouth. And I gulp and I gulp and I gulp and… where goes the milk? “Waaaarrngghh!!! Waarrngh!” I want more.
Mother picks me up and pats me, swings me and bobs me up and down. She sings and she coos to appease this selfish little thing. “Waaaarrngghh!!! Waarrngh!” I want more.
The swinging and patting began to feel like the same old thing over and over again. My crying doesn’t seem to change mother’s plan and I feel drowsy.
I feel drowsy. I wish I am already 6 months old. I bet a 6-month-old knows what she wants and gets what she wants. I wish I am already 6 months old… Zzzz…