New Life
The publication of my first collection of short stories coincided with the birth of my youngest grandchild. In her honour I wrote this story.
Birth-Day
Looking back, I suppose it was a memorable day for all concerned. The question is, in my humble opinion, who shared in the euphoria? I even dare to raise the question, was there a feeling of euphoria? Personally, between you and me, I don’t think giving birth is quite all it’s made out to be. Admittedly, it’s three cheers for a new life but the drudgery soon sets in, doesn’t it?: post-natal depression, sleepless nights, hormones freaked out or on tilt, libido non-existent and a body which needs re-shaping; and that’s only the new father. Granted care and attention was given to all but no one asked my opinion and I was the one who had experienced it live.
My conception had taken place nine months previously. It was on a beautiful sunny July Sunday morning and my mother felt that the “O” time had arrived. She prepared a special breakfast of fried egg, boiled egg, scrambled egg and toast. She wore her see-through negligee and her little girl’s expression. Before they had a chance to start on the freshly pressed orange juice, she’d been pressed into service and: “Bob’s your uncle”. Within a short space of time – a very short space of time I hasten to add – there I was.
I loved it at first. It was snug, warm and relaxing. Food came on cue and there was no one to bother me. Sometimes I felt my mother rubbing her belly, at which times I would knock and shout out “hello”. The answers I got in return were not encouraging : “my back hurts; he’s pressing against my bladder; I can only sleep sitting up”. Once I retorted: “hello, stop moaning. It’s a good job I’m not claustrophobic. This isn’t really a five-star accommodation, you know”.
I used to enjoy gambolling around but one day I got stuck, head down. Even this unforeseen event I managed to accept without complaining.
I’ll never forget the day it all changed. I’d been enjoying a wee nap when I suddenly felt something pushing me from behind. I looked up and I swore there were eyes looking at me and two fingers were tickling my nose. Scary! I tried with all my might to hold on. Suddenly I heard my mother screaming to my father: “You did this to me”. This wasn’t technically true as she was the one who had seduced him but I decided it might be better not to interfere. All in all the idea of going out there with two people arguing and some monster with four eyes trying to grab hold of me, also the very bright lights and all that gooey stuff running over my body, I must admit that I felt a certain trepidation.
The realisation that free will is nothing but a fantasy also hit home. It was one of those spiritual experiences people thrive on nowadays.
The inevitable finally happened . I shot out of my comfy cave, vowing that I would do all in my power to return there some day, and simultaneously praying for a safety net. Whether it was good judgement or good luck I don’t know but, someone had been to goalkeepers’ practice and I was caught in mid-flight. And what do you think happened then? They hit me! I was so upset at this unjustified treatment that I started crying at the top of my voice. They must have realised that they’d gone too far and lay me down on my mother’s ample bosom. She said she would try and coax me into drinking but, oh boy, after all I had been through I didn’t need any coaxing. I was starving, not to mention sorely in need of a bit of love. My mother looked at me and pronounced the words which still hold good today: “Oh you were certainly born for comfort and not speed, weren’t you?”
And so concludes my autobiography. In short I would say it was a bloody inconvenient way of getting here. Having said that life, itself isn’t too bad once you’re used to it.