A message from Baby Happy
Few people in the course of human history have managed the trick of understanding the thoughts and feelings of preborn children. My parents may know that two weeks ago I resembled a mutant raspberry and that now my head and "tush" have developed into a barely recognizable form, but they know that mainly from medical books and a brief sonogram rather than any first-hand knowledge. At least they have been able to see my beating heart, and for that I am grateful. Perhaps it solidified for them the final reality of my existence. But even that gives them no window into my soul, for they cannot yet even look into my eyes.
For my part, I have tried valiantly to fathom my mother's emotions both through her speech and her chemicals, but I fear there are subtleties in the woman's psyche I shall never grasp in a century. I feel her powerfully, nevertheless, and on a level unimaginable to anyone not living inside her. Sadly, the emotional conduits between Mama and me seem relatively one-sided. I imagine this is due mainly to my relative lack of stimulation and experience. I cannot even be sure myself whether my emotions belong to me or her. I suppose we will share everything including feelings for the next several months, our independent minds notwithstanding. Still, I communicate my own thoughts as best I can, especially on the subject of food. I recently let Mama know of my violent distaste for New York chili, and I believe she "got the message" as they say. My daddy emphatically insists that I would enjoy chili made in Texas, so I have thus far suppressed my instinct to dismiss the dish altogether.
Daddy is an interesting chap. He habitually caresses and kisses Mama's abdomen where he believes the smallest possible amount of flesh separates his lips from my head. He prays for me. He sometimes recites a list of people who already love me. He sings to me every night and constantly asks Mama whether she has taken her daily vitamin. He does seem to understand me as well as can be expected. It remains to be seen whether he understands well enough to translate my thoughts into a spoken language I have not yet learned. As I have an unexplainable—and possibly genetic—urge to speak to the world, I sincerely hope he succeeds in this regard.
