WOMB RAIDER

For Cathy

(Published in the Fall, 2002 issue of “A Moment in Time” Catholic High Writers Club Literary Magazine)


Throughout history man has fought great adversity in his life. I have had my fair share of rough times, but from the struggles one amazing story has emerged. My story is similar to a fine wine in that it has beautifully aged with time. It is different from fine wine since it lacks alcohol.

I would like to relate the most arduous chapter of my life. What period of development scarred me? Was it adolescence or maybe middle age? NO, it was the traumatic womb. The muscular sac of incomprehensible misery. It is not possible for me to convey the steamy solitude that the empty womb provided. Hey Mom, would it have been so hard to swallow a few toys (preferably a Barbie). I soon found out, however, that the solace I experienced was the least of my problems.

The placenta. Oh, sweet Lord, the placenta. That misshapen, veiny heap really freaked me out. One time I woke up after dozing off against the ovaries and that placenta was staring right at me! I splashed some fluid his way and moved to my dining room (between the cervix and liver). Suddenly, the stomach monster awoke and started to float in my direction. This moment could have been the end of my womb misadventure had I not had the presence to whip my umbilical cord and lash the would-be maternity super-villain. Needless to say, the placenta did not bother me the rest of my tenure in the womb.

Everyday life in the "Slammer," as I like to call it, was not as exciting as the day I conquered my womb-nemesis, but the weather of the womb really got to me. Every single day: hot and humid with 100% chance of precipitation. Mom, get some AC in that womb!

A ceiling fan, a window unit, something. I was burning up in there, didn't you feel me kicking?? How am I expected to lie and wallow in such uncomfortable environment. You’re lucky I stayed for nine months cause there wasn't even a TV, much less 24 hour Womb Service.

All alliteration aside, my mom has got to get some cross-ventilation. Her life-bearing inn could use a sunroof, skylight, alcove, or at least a mirror to open the place up. I was just about to labor to build a tree house near the amniotic sac when I was converted. One day I saw "the light" and was born-again, though I wasn't technically "born" yet (point up for debate). It was a bright, bright light swelling to a diameter of 10 cm (Yes, I had a ruler).

Even though I loathed the nine month hiatus, I feared the unknown light and the rubbery hands that were reaching for me. After many hours of valiant strife, a clever doctor managed to lure me out of the womb with fat-free spam. Once I saw the real world, I knew that detached was the best umbilical lifestyle for me.

People always tell me, "No one can remember life in the womb." I just have to laugh at these people because who are they kidding? Not me. Everyone who has a womb story needs to be heard. Whether it be an itchy umbilical cord, inclement weather, claustrophobia, or a lack of AAA batteries, the world must be informed. Do not be afraid to speak out against the Temple of Womb. Ohh yeah, and, Mom, if you are reading this, could you check and see if I left my Rubik's Cube and Flock of Seagulls cassette in there, Thanks.