My Birth

Light; a sudden pressure like I had never felt before; cries fill the room.

“Is my baby okay?”

Too distressed to respond, I simply continue crying. Why would Mom take me out of the only place I’ve known and loved, to be here?? Why would she want me separated from her for even a moment? I can’t take this. The asylum-white walls of this room, the mix of chemical smells that saturate my nostrils, the harsh bright light that covers the scene-it is all just too much. All I want is for the sensory overload to be shut off-for my world to be simple again.

But then, I’m being handed from person to person: ceaned, wrapped, calmed. And back to Mom. Her arms give me solace, but it is not worth the pain I just went through. Why be brought into this complicated world without any clear purpose?

I want to get out, but my arms and legs won’t do anything. I’m trapped! The words that come out of the other humans’ mouths will not find a way out of mine. I have no capability for expression, but I have to do something before it’s too late; before I get comfortable with this! I scream louder and louder, but no one understands what I need.

Mom is wheeled into another room, as she holds onto me tightly. She tries to get me to eat but all I want is freedom. “Do you really think food is what I want right now???” I scream inside. No one understands. No one will ever understand.

The pain and hopelessness envelope me like a dark tunnel that never seems to end. My cries rock me to sleep.

When I wake up, I feel peacefully comfortable. I slowly open my eyes and realize that this is exactly what I was afraid of. I dramatically begin to cry wails of hopelessness. Mom is there before I can gasp for breath. She picks me up and holds me in her arms. As she starts to feed me, I begin to panic.

“It’s okay, sweetie. It’s okay. Mommy is here.”

But this is exactly why I’m crying! I don’t want it to be okay! I don’t want to be stuck here! I know the truth about this world: no matter how comfortable I become, it will never be worth it. This viewpoint is ageless: time will never erase what a person goes through. I might become used to this pain, but it will always be just as agonizing. It might seem okay one day, but it is undeniably not okay now.

Comfort cannot take the place of rationality. If I know life is terrible, from the short time I spent observing it but not being a part of it, why should I be forced into it? All the pain, discomfort, and injustice should be avoided at all costs! Why can’t I go back? I don’t understand why Mom put herself through that excruciating agony merely to create offspring with further pain. Her joy from having a child does not outweigh the suffering that we collectively endure. Conventional wisdom may have us believe that the benefits of children are everything, but they have just forgotten the reality.

It is time to go home. I’ve never actually seen “home,” but if it’s the place Mom lived until now, it didn’t seem as bad as the hospital. I still can’t allow myself to get comfortable. I have to retain the negativity so that I can live with truth.

Mom is being wheeled down the endlessly long corridors of the hospital. Betsy, Mom’s best friend, is there. She carries the bag filled with all of the essential baby-tending equipment. Mom signs some papers on the way out and then we’re walking to the car. We enter the small vehicle, a nd I am strapped into a baby-seat. Mom repeatedly looks back at me nervously as she gets into the car. Betsy talks excitedly about all we have left to do when we get home, a nd I fall asleep to the sound of her voice.

I wake up again suddenly. We’re home. I can finally see what it looks like. The crisp November breeze brushes against my face when Mom unbuckles me. I hear the crunch of the leaves under Mom’s feet as she carries me toward the house. All of the autumn sounds make me feel happy and calm. I feel a foreboding sense of regret as I allow myself to sink into the blanket. I know I don’t want to feel peaceful but I do. Is that so bad?

We enter through the large white door. The smell of artificial pine permeates the air and I can tell it has smelled like that for a long time. The window curtains sway with contentment as I’m blanketed in a warm yellow light. I now understand what home is.

Mommy wraps me in pink softness and lays me down in a crib. I love it here. I don’t want to, but I do. Mom sits next to me and begins to sing. Her face seems exhausted, but her voice sounds content. I want to be close to her forever.

The remorse that I have been feeling since my first second is seizing. I know holding onto it will give me truth but I don’t care anymore. Maybe ignorance is bliss. Maybe forgetting the truth is the only way to live happily ever after.