Here I am, floating inside a womb, patiently waiting for the day I get to meet the woman who brought me to life. It feels like I’ve been stuck in here for decades, but then again how should I know? I’m not even old enough to count days.
Sometimes I wonder what my mother looks like. Does she have a bald head too? Does she eat through a tube like I do? Can she hear my own heartbeat? Because I always hear hers. When she’s stressed her heart beats like a drum, when she’s in love, her heart skips a beat and when she’s sound asleep her heart plays a soft and soothing melody. I hope I still get to listen to it when I leave the womb.
When I’m bored, I often wonder what my last day in here will be like, will my mom send me a warning and open up a passageway? Will she send someone inside to guide me out? Or will I keep growing and growing until I burst out of her tummy?
Let’s say I actually do leave the womb; how will I live? Will I get to keep my umbilical cord and remain forever attached to my mommy? How do humans move anyways? Do they swim like I do or do they crawl on the ground? And what if I hate the outside world? Will my mom let me move back in the womb?
These are the kind of questions that keep me up at night. The more I think about it, the more I feel terrified of leaving. I don’t even know if it’s up to me to decide whether I stay or leave. I guess I’ll never know until that day comes. All I can do is hope that I’ll step into a better world, one that is full of magic, kindness and everlasting joy.
