Born on the Day the World Will End

When I hired this family two weeks ago, I didn’t expect that the new kid, Pandemic, would ruin all my plans. It was already a lot of pressure as the second born. Not only do I have to live up to the high standards that my sister, Izzy, placed, I also have to fulfill all of Mommy’s desires – to be a chubby, scrumptious and drama-free baby.

Unlike Izzy, who tried to attain Nirvana in the womb, my main goal is to survive the next eight months as Mommy’s worries about the Pandemic spread like wildfire: What will the world be like in 9 months? Will doctors and nurses turn into zombies? The world is coming to an end, and I am having a baby.

Mommy’s imagination parades the dark womb daily: Will the hospitals have so many patients due to the Pandemic that they won’t have room for us? Should I start hoarding first aid supplies? She asks these questions while having nightmares of giving birth in a dark, empty alley next to the hospital, her screams of pain lost in the sirens on the streets as people fight over the remaining food and water.

The unknown is dark and unforgiving, eating our tender bodies slowly. I feel the sharp pain that runs up and down Mommy’s spine every time she tries to walk. I feel the shudder as she lets out a loud yelp and limps to the wall, clinging on for dear life. I sense Daddy’s helping hands as he lifts her and lays her down on the bed.

I know that I have to give Mommy hope and love. I stretched my arms and legs, practicing my kicks for the real world, letting her know that I am strong and will protect her. I can’t wait to hug her.