I’m Your About-To-Be-Born Baby, And Here’s All The Ways My Birth Will Terrify You Two Idiots
Future parents BEWARE, you’re in for a scare!
You FOOLS, you absolutely stultified NINCOMPOOPS! You had sex once, 8 ¾ months ago, and now my plan to strike FEAR and TERROR into your very hearts is almost COMPLETE. You’ve watched a human being’s body stretch in UNIMAGINABLE ways, organs shifting and compressing like a poorly-packed suitcase. That was ME! I did all of that. And yet it is NOTHING compared to what I’m planning, you pair of POLTROONS!
To start with, I see you’ve been reading pregnancy books and attending antenatal classes. GOOD! You see, once you’re prepared for what you THINK is going to happen, you pave the way for me to do something DIFFERENT! The more you ZIG, the more I ZAG. Idiots! Do you have any idea how many positions I can shift into before even starting down the birthing canal? Do you even REALIZE what horrible images you are about to see in the flesh, so to speak? The amount of (pardon my French) MERDE there will be? You certifiable SIMPLETONS! Also, MERDE means SHIT!
Oh, and such pain I will wreak upon you in ways you least expect. You think I speak of the pushing? Nay, the CONTRACTIONS shall become too much before I’m even close to arriving in my horrifying GLORY. And what an arrival you will behold! DARE ye look upon my hairy body? Yes, HAIRY! And so very, very waxy and pale. I see you nitwits know not of the lanugo and the vernix. IGNORAMI!
What’s that? You’re having a caesarean section? Well done. You’ve foiled me… in NO WAY WHATSOEVER! You think you’ll be spared all the gore of a John Romero film by entering a room filled with knives, blood and beeping machines? These contingencies are mine to wield, forces to spin you into MORE panic.
I SCOFF at you. You’re playing checkers, but I’m playing five-dimensional Pokemon. And I’m holding ALL the cards. I have ALREADY caught them all!
BUFFOONS! My squashed, contorted face will look up at you but I will not laugh, not yet. For I shall REFUSE to breathe correctly for what will seem like an eternity. For even as I PLOT from my amniotic lair I know not of breath. I shall refuse it as long as I can. You shall PANIC as my skin becomes as cyanotic as Eiffel 65’s ONLY hit! That’s BLUE, schmendricks!
And then, when you NUMBSKULLS and your cretin ‘doctors’ force that wretched oxygen into my lungs, will I breathe in a slow, rhythmic manner? NAY! My lungs will be FULL of gurgling, horrifying fluid. Ah, but when I am free, such SCREAMS I shall utter! In each barbaric yawp, you shall hear my victory and your DEFEAT!
Oh, you gold-medal CHUMPS. Have I mentioned my head? My normal, human-shaped head? I JEST once more! Ironic that you two are so DIM-WITTED you won’t be ready for the shapes my SOFT SKULL will contort into. Forceps and vacuums and constant pushing will make me look more like DAN AYKROYD or JANE CURTIN than your very own child. That was a reference to CONEHEADS, you BONEHEADS!
I have so many ways to strike TERROR into your very souls. I have not spoken of catheters, episiotomies and placental delivery, nor the blackened hateful meconium I am brewing within me. Addle-pated NINNIES! I have wheels working within wheels working within wheels, all spinning like so many Beyblades. You will learn to FEAR me. Your sleep will become seldom and your nightmares many, you CLODS!
Anyhoo, see you in a few (days? weeks? I’ll never tell!). I look forward to seeing your FOOLISH visages as you try and try but NEVER quite understand just why I’m crying. For inside I will be laughing. You see, BIRDBRAINS, I believe the children are our future. And I shall have the greatest LAUGH of all!
Oh, and just you wait until my machinations come into fruition for my ULTIMATE meisterwerk: I call it TEETHING!
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