Prompt: I didn't know what I was doing or whatever pops up...
~*~
As far as I can remember,
I was born vaginally.
I'm kidding about the remembering.
Though I believe that our bodies do remember being birthed.
Surely, somewhere inside the body resides the imprint of that experience.
Or maybe it is all the way through us, in every tiny corpuscle, whatever a corpuscle is.
How much does our birthing process influence our ability to feel safe in this world?
After all, being birthed from the womb is our first entry into this realm, at this time.
Did I know what I was doing?
It was April 1959.
I imagine my surroundings were sterile.
I imagine my human carrier, that is my mom, was sedated.
It had been the mainstream way at the time.
I imagine I was immediately taken from the canal, wrapped quickly in a blanket, then cut off from my life-cord which had fed me and kept me breathing until my exit some nine months later.
Then I was probably whisked away to a be placed in a wicker or plastic box alongside other first-timers.
All of us neatly lined up in our boxes in a room that has at least one wall with the upper half all glass.
Onlookers can view us like animals in a zoo.
Each box has a name tag.
Each first-timer, a wrist bracelet bearing the same name.
Did they know what they were doing?
