S small, black figure buzz in front of me, circling my head, and finally lands on my right knee. Oh – Hi, want to be friends? I study its fuzzy body with a set of long wings. This friend doesn’t talk much, does it?
Its head dips forward. The long needle on its head pierce into my skin – perhaps that’s a greeting of some sort.
Its body is pulsating with every blink. Is it … getting bigger?
“Ahh! You’re getting eaten alive!” Mommy smacks my knees. “I got the mosquito!” she squeals with delight as she shows me the black smear on her palm. The sting from her slap spreads over my knee caps.
“Izzy, you need to tell me when you’re getting bitten.” So, that’s what friends do – they bite each other. I look down and notice the spot where the mosquito had landed is turning pinkish-red and now triple in size.
The area got warmer by the second, and my fingers uncontrollably scratches it – what a crafty welcome gift.
Mommy puts some gloves over my small, 4-months old hands and rubs cream on my knee and arms. She is too busy to notice another “friend” has landed on her forehead. I smile to say thanks as it gave her a welcome gift as well.
I can’t see, but there is no point anyway. It is pitch-black in here; my ears are my eyes in this world. It is usually pretty noisy with the stomach factory constantly pumping out gastric acid and the food particles flowing through multiple pathways. Don’t even get me started on the veins; they envelop this world like a rubber band ball.
I overheard that I will get “evicted” soon.
That’s probably another term for attaining nirvana, like what they promised two months ago. Finally, after 41 weeks, I will become a Buddha – I’ve been mentally writing a thesis of how my new life would be like. I would live in a world just as silky as this one, with a constant stream of water flowing around the body to keep me young forever. I don’t want just to survive, I want to live to my fullest potential, you know? Perhaps I’ll get to surface from my capsule and unhook from the life-system to socialize with the other Buddhists and have a fancy glass of premium grade amniotic fluid. Or I’ll have a bigger bouncy house with space to continue practicing my sissonne ballet jumps and double jabs. I looked around me.
Space is limited these days; my arms and legs were pressed so tightly against the inner walls that the only position I like is upside down.
Suddenly the jello sack started vibrating violently. With every passing minute, my ears pounded louder. My head is constantly pulled into gravity’s gaping mouth below. Even with my eyes closed, I can see the dim light piercing through my eyelids. Today I will meet my fate.
I will now let go of my worldly possessions.
Within a few seconds, white sheets surrounded me like a welcome mat. I let out a yelp of surprise as giant “beings” (buddhas?) hover over me. The light is so bright I kept my eyes shut. Ah! I’m levitating! So this is how it feels like to be enlightened!
But it went downhill from there.
As I drifted from point A to B to C in a white towel, I screamed in vain, getting dizzier by the second. “Good, she cried.” What is wrong with these beings? Survival in this world is about who can scream the loudest?
I realized I need to rewrite my thesis as this world is not as peaceful as I envisioned it; it is full of light, hunger, and dry, itchy blankets.
The saddest part is that now I have to share my world with all of these beings.
I kicked my arms and legs in frustration. Can I un-attain nirvana?
“Humm mm Humm.” Something is disturbing my peace; it is circling me as if looking for an entrance. There’s that sound again, near my legs this time. “Humm mm Humm.” Every few weeks, this sound tries to track me down, as if I’m in a snow globe, studying my every move.
I jumped forward and transitioned into a backflip.
It was much easier to maneuver in this jello sack seven months ago; now, I am continually fighting for space. Perhaps it is investigating whether I am worthy of attaining nirvana, testing my dedication as I am in the process of rebirth.
I can barely make out the words, “She’s moving a lot. I can’t find her heartbeat.” It wants my heartbeat.
I shall appease them else they will deny my entrance to enlightenment. I sat down and started meditating.
I listened to the waves in my surrounding with my eyes closed, the fluid gently vibrating as the humming slithers towards me. “Finally got her!… I think she’s sitting up because the heartbeat is above the belly button.” Yes – ma’am, I am trying to concentrate here.
After a minute, the humming stopped, “she’ll be ready in two months,” the words echoed through the chambers.
Yes! Finally! I will attain nirvana! In my euphoria, I kicked my arms and legs for an early celebration. I’m too thrilled to meditate right now; I’ll do it later.
“Thank you for letting me pick your nose.” After saying that to 10-month-old Izzy, I realized that self-image and etiquette are no longer a priority. What if my husband, my coworkers, or my friends heard it?! I am kneeling on the floor in PJs in the middle of the day with a flashlight on one hand and a dirty tissue on another, looking up my daughter’s nose as she sat on the couch.
That sticky booger had been peeking out and tempting me all morning. Izzy was still enough to let me pick at it with my thick fingers. After multiple attempts, I ran to the bathroom for the boogie-tweezer (yes, those exist, it’s a plastic tweezer with round tips. “Why not use a Nose Frida?” you ask. It is not as effective…).
While digging in the dark caves of her nose, I hoped that Izzy wouldn’t get fed up with all the mining expeditions.
When the tweezers finally got a hold of that gooey mucus, the booger was clinging on to dear life, until eventually, with a yank, it snapped and out it came. “Does that feel better?” I asked Izzy – probably more a question for myself. It was a successful day.
“Bffttttt” – what is that sound? It just came from behind mommy, who or what is there? Mommy’s cheeks are slowly turning pink; that sound is making her change colors. Cool~~~ how do I do it? Mommy’s eyes started to turn towards my direction. Should I act like nothing is happening? Out of habit, I do my usual stare into space as a 2-month-old and cooed; she always likes that. “Aww, you still love me,” she whispered and then kissed me on the forehead. After a few weeks, I learned that this sound is called a “fart” or a “toot.”
It is a ball of air released from the lower body, in addition to the noise, one can actually feel a little ripple on the butt cheeks.
However, I have such limited control of my new found body that it often gets trapped and I would wail in pain. Daddy is my designated “gas reliever.” He’ll lay me on my back multiple times a day and push my legs up and down as if I am an accordion, singing, “it’s time to do the bicycle.” Every time I let out a toot, he’ll say “good job” and kisses me.
Toots = Kisses.
I like it. But I want to do it myself, I want to “own it,” you know what I mean?
One time, my tummy was rumbling again. Mommy was holding me in her arms. This is my opportunity to prove to her I can do it myself! I looked into her eyes, deep into her soul, and tried to push, really hard. The familiar sound discharged from my lower body, success! If only I can see myself, I wonder if my cheeks are pink. Wait, what’s that smell?
My butt is damp and sticky. Did I push too hard?
“Good job!” exclaimed mommy as she excitedly puts me on the changing pad.
