The Absurd Secret Diary Of An Unborn Baby

by David N Bending

  Monday 23rd March.

  New Kid’s mother was ever so grateful, but New Kid wasn’t interested in demonstrating gratitude. Wanted to know why I waited half a day before persuading my mother to pay up. Some kids are so ungrateful.

  Tuesday 24th March.

  Mother and I have an appointment at the hospital. Arrived late. The waiting area smelled of disinfectant and was jammed packed with pregnant mothers. Spotted Dara four rows in front. She was sucking her thumb. Comedy Pete was also there. Comedy Pete is an unborn of 33 weeks.

  Mothers were waiting to be lectured on the finer details of pre-natal, post-natal and the highs and lows of motherhood.

  Comedy Pete was well into his routine. Unborns that could laugh were splitting their sides. One twenty-six week old was very close to spitting his sides, quite literally. He was in serious danger of rupturing his newly assembled laughter muscles. Comedy Pete eventually finished with six minutes of applause.

  Wednesday 25th March.

  Not feeling too well. My mouth feels as if it’s puffed on forty, high-tar cigarettes. Tried shouting at mother but my throat was too sore and husky. A little sympathy would have gone down well, but sympathy is alien for mother to comprehend.

  Hope Dara will visit me soon.

  Wednesday late evening.

  Dara calls but miserably fails to cheer me up.

  Thursday 26th March.

  My true love visits again. Breakthrough. This time Dara succeeds in making me laugh at her jokes (think I’ll take up acting).

  Friday 27th March.

  Read ‘Around The World In Eighty Days’ whilst initiating my gradual recovery. Mother turns the pages far too quickly. I’m still learning to read.

  Saturday 28th March.

  Pompous Twit asked me to attend choir evenings with him. I said I would seriously think about it, but really, I’m trying to find an excuse not to.

  Week Thirty-Three

  By the end of this week, I’ll be about 41cm in length and weigh around the 1915 grams. I’ll also be putting on weight very quickly from now. Most unborns gain half their birth weight in the next seven weeks before birth. We also develop regular REM and non-REM sleep patterns. It’s believed, that in the world beyond the womb, unborns are more aware of the ‘goings on’ outside and respond to external stimuli. Of course, we unborns know differently. These ‘goings on’ in the outside world is nothing new to us.

  Sunday 29th March.

  Today is Mothering Sunday for millions of mothers, except mine. She looks depressed. Must wait another year before her first Mother’s Day card from me, and even then, I might not be with it.

  Evening. We lay down on the sofa to watch a DVD titled ‘Mother’s Day,’ but failed to spot the 18 certificate stamped on the cover. A blood and gore video, and I’m under age.

  Monday 30th March.

  Sick all night, sick all day.

  Tuesday 31st March.

  Sick all night, sick most of the day, but getting better.

  Wednesday 1st April.

  I’m feeling better. April Fool mother. I’m going to be sick again.

  Knew I was under age, and still she forced me to watch that gory DVD.

  Pompous Twit’s mum made a house call, wishing my mother a speedy recovery. Pompous Twit alleged he had a week to live. A deadly heart condition, he said. I told him to grow up. ‘All Fools day only lasts up until 12 o’clock mid-day’ I reminded him. It’s very disconcerting Pompous being so humorous. He admitted it was very unlike him, but wanted to experience the feeling.

  Our local paper said the end of the world was near, but that is just another silly April fool trick, so mother says. I’m not so sure.

  Thursday 2nd April.

  Dara’s mother bought mine a bouquet of flowers. Dara said it took much persuading on her part.

  Friday 3rd April.

  Decision day is looming. Must inform my friends the exact day and week I’ll be vacating my cosy, padded cell. Monday is certainly out of the question. That’s my Monday Morning Blues day. Tuesday is a possibility, but Wednesday should be the scene-stealer. I just love Wednesdays. It’s the day my energy levels are topped up.

  If I had some personal belongings to pack, I would pack my toothbrush, flannel and towel, my slippers, shower gel … after all, I want to look spic n’ span when I check out. Some unborns think it’s cool to emerge ungroomed, but not I.

  Saturday 4th April.

  Severe indigestion all day. Must be the jumbo size, chocolate bar mother had with two cups of strong coffee. I hate coffee; makes my heart think it‘s a drum kit.

  Week Thirty-Four

  By the end of this week, I will be approximately 42cm in length and weigh around the 2080 grams mark. I’ll continue to gain fat but will it’ll cause extensive cramping in here. In order to prepare for birth, I will be turning upside down. My bones continue to harden, and the skin becomes less wrinkled and red as time goes by.

  Sunday 5th April.

  Had a very bizarre call from New Kid’s mother. Will mother meet her at the nearby Docks? Why? I wonder.

  Why must pregnant women act so eccentric leading up to birth?

  Before I had time to ask questions, New Kid’s mother hung up.

  We were to meet her on Pier 4, at 7 o’clock tonight.

  Maybe we’re being treated to an around-the-world cruise.

  7.05 pm on a blustery cold evening. Kidnapped. We were thrown into the boot of a car smelling of rotten fish.

  Smashed my head heavily against my cell wall. Thought I was going to die. Mother knocked unconscious. Could hear New Kid whistling in the background. Car moving.

  Thud…

  Falling…

  A loud splash...

  Car filling with seawater. So cold.

  Yelled at mother to wake up, and then kicked her. Thankfully it worked.

  Mother kicked the car boot open. My hero again.

  New Kid, and his partner in crime, had scarpered.

  A passing police constable insisted we made a statement. This was definitely mother’s moment in the limelight. She insisted she had absolutely no idea who the perpetrators were. The policewoman taking down our particulars looked at her doubtfully.

  New Kid was sure to try again, I was certain.

  12.06 am. Finally crawled under mother’s duvet. Tallulah had thoughtfully kept it warm.

  Finally succumbed to sleep.

  Monday 6th April.

  My angry mother telephoned New Kid’s mother. No reply.

  Tuesday 7th April.

  Again mother telephoned, and again no reply.

  Wednesday 8th April.

  Arrived home after shopping. A call was left on our answer-phone. Mother returned call. Again, no answer.

  Thursday 9th April.

  Success. New Kid’s mother couldn’t be more apologetic. Said she had no idea what came over her. ‘I do,’ I shouted. Her pleas for forgiveness were pathetic. As if we would agree not to involve the police. Huh.

  Mother agreed to hush the whole thing up. They made-up. How could they? We nearly drowned because of that woman and her nutty, delinquent unborn son.

  Friday 10th April.

  WPC Loveless and her sidekick, Verity Dogood, a 16 year old girl dressed up in police fancy dress. Think they call them Police Community Support Officers. They very kindly knocked on our front door, enquiring whether mother had fully recovered from her near-fatal drowning incident. I said no. Again, mother insisted she had no idea who was behind the crime. Verity yawned as she busily texted her boyfriend.

  Saturday 11th April.

  Odd. Feels like my pool is contaminated with salt water. Uncle believes mother is a hero. He promises her a surprise, then disappears. When he finally reappeared, he was clutching the sparkly necklace. Slipped it around mother’s neck.

  On an average day in my life, I would have lovingly and caringly throttled her with it, but she was my hero, f
or now.

  Week Thirty-Five

  By the end of this week, I’ll be approximately 43.5cm in length and weigh around 2250 grams. My lungs are nearly developed and I continue to grow rounder as the layer of fat, which keeps me warm, grows thicker.

  Sunday 12th April.

  Dara not at home.

  Monday 13th April.

  Dara telephoned and blew kisses.

  Tuesday 14th April.

  Decided to give head a rest and think of nothing.

  Wednesday 15th April.

  Decided to turn upside down to practice birthing procedure. Not long to go now.

  Thursday 16th April.

  Unwell. Nerves I think.

  Friday 17th April. Good Friday.

  Feeling better today. Uncle says there are new aliens in the corner grocery shop. I told him he was being juvenile. There are no such things as aliens. I know he loves his Doctor Who and repeats of the X Files. Mother said, ‘Is there?’ before falling asleep on the sofa.

  Saturday 18th April.

  Mother made a trip to the grocery shop. Didn’t notice any suspicious, green eyed, grey rubber-bodied aliens. Uncle is barking mad.

  I asked the new owners, George and Annie Patel if they had witnessed any aliens in their store. I was ignored as usual, but an eight week old unborn (doing press-ups) inside Annie Patel, said the only aliens he’d seen were the British National Party daubing paint on their shop window. I wondered if that was the ‘aliens’ uncle meant.

  Inside the Patel shop, no aliens then. Mother bought a packet of prawn-crackers and Mrs Patel said, ‘Please try my homemade Poppadoms,’ so we did.

  At home, mother told Uncle Billy there weren’t aliens in the Patel shop.

  Mother and uncle had an argument. It lasted over 2 hours. Mother told uncle to grow up. He was ‘living in the past,’ she said, then called him a racist.

  Week Thirty-Six

  By the end of this week, I’ll be approximately 45 cm long and weigh about 2420 grams. Mother’s abdomen will stretch and become thinner to accommodate me, that’s because I’m nearly fully-grown. Officially, I will respond to the outside world of light and dark and develop a daily routine of my own. I did that ages ago. My kidneys and liver are now fully developed, allowing me to process some waste products.

  Sunday 19th April. Easter Sunday.

  Uncle cooked me a lovely Easter Sunday beef stew. The dumplings looked yummy, but not too sure on the fine, straggly hairs in the liquid stew.

  Monday 20th April. Bank Holiday.

  Dempsey finished off mother’s Easter egg. Mother is definitely not pleased.

  Tuesday 21st April.

  Mother reclining on the sofa feeling sorry for herself, complaining of backache.

  Wednesday 22nd April.

  Uncle is dead. Mother stuck a knife in his back. That was my perfect dream last night. When I woke, I was relieved it was only in my head (not the knife).

  Thursday 23rd April. St. Georges Day.

  Uncle has asked if he can be present at the birth. I said, ‘No way Uncle,’ but mother said she’d think about it.

  Friday 24th April.

  Uncle has bought a camcorder. Why?

  Saturday 25th April.

  New Kid’s mother sent a bunch of twelve red roses. For once in her life, my mother did the right thing. She mailed them straight back, minus postage.

  Week Thirty-Seven

  By the end of this week, I’ll be approx 46.5 cm in length and weigh around 2660 grams. I will be round and chubby, gaining about 38 grams per day. I will lose my lanugo hair, except on the shoulders and back and my toenails will have reached the tips of the toes.

  Sunday 26th April.

  Undertaking practice runs around my cell this morning because when the padlock to my cell is unlocked, I’ll be making a ‘prison break.’ Very tiring, but end benefits will be worthwhile.

  Dara says she practices ‘womb vacating’ every afternoon. Didn’t realise she was so focused. Would be a disaster if I messed up when the big day arrives.

  Monday 27th April.

  Limbs are aching. Probably over exercised.

  Tuesday 28th April.

  Feeling nauseous today. Have no inclination to go shopping with mother this morning, but I’m powerless in the matter.

  Wednesday 29th April.

  Sick all day yesterday, but much better today. Mother suffered acute stomach inflammation. Probably eaten something past its sell-by-date. A miracle if I escape from my cell in healthy order.

  Thursday 30th April.

  Mother looked in the morning mirror of the bathroom. Thinks she looks fat, and for once, I agreed. ‘Of course you’re fat,’ I told her, ‘You’ve got me.’

  After I’m born, I just pray she doesn’t get post-natal depression. I couldn’t put up with all that personal pain.

  Friday 1st May.

  A postcard delivered this morning was from dad. Barely decipherable, but said he was happy as Larry. Must be his latest squeeze … err...boyfriends name.

  Saturday 2nd May.

  Mother has bought two goldfish for Tallulah. The cat can now watch the fish swim around and around in monotonous circles. Tallulah loves things that revolve. Thinks the washing machine is better than TV.

  Week Thirty-Eight

  I will be approx 48cm in length by the end of this week and 2900grams. If I was born now, I would be considered full term. My head will move into the pelvic cavity, which sounds very painful for me. This will allow extra space for continued growth of the legs and buttocks. The waxy vernix coating is almost completely gone, just enough remaining to help lubricate me during the birth process. I will actually swallow some of the shed vernix and lanugo, which is now in my bowels and will be excreted after birth. I’ll also have creases on my heels this week, a sure sign of maturity.

  Sunday 3rd May.

  Dempsey has eaten Tallulah’s pet fish. Tallulah is furious.

  Monday 4th May.

  Instructions downloaded at 11.56am. Instructed to maneuver 180 degrees, head first into the pelvic cavity, but warned could be stressful and claustrophobic.

  Tuesday 5th May.

  Good wishes flood in from my unborn friends. So far, the postman has delivered six bunches of white roses to our house, but he’s not happy. Keeps pricking his fingers on the thorns.

  Uncle Billy went shopping. Brought back a second-hand cot from auction. Well, I guess it’s the thought that counts.

  Wednesday 6th May.

  Being upside down is a bloody pain in the back. Reminds me of what astronauts must put up with.

  Thursday 7th May. 10.34am.

  The internal-rolling-news-wire has informed me I will retain complete control over my birthing timetable. Think that means I can make immediate preparations to depart. Where’s the ignition key.

  10.42am. News bulletin. Just my luck. Appears the longer I stay put, the healthier I become. Guess being holed-up in my cell a little longer can’t hurt.

  Friday 8th May.

  My aching back is marginally better today.

  Saturday 9th May.

  Dara says an unborn called Daniel died by umbilical strangulation yesterday as his mother gave birth. The mother is suicidal.

  Thanks Dara, just what I needed to hear. Hope my mother doesn’t get suicidal whilst I’m waiting for the exit-visa. That would really blow our relationship sky high.

  Week Thirty-Nine

  By the end of this week, I’ll be approx 49cm long and weigh about 3075 grams. Lungs are the last organs to reach a state of total maturity. Will probably require a few hours to establish regular breathing patterns after birth.

  Sunday 10th May. Late afternoon. 5.36 pm.

  Problems, problems. Mother, New Kid, his mother, and I are mentally shattered, not to mention physically battered, as we lie in Little Brown Bear Ward at Cow Minster Hospital.

  Earlier this morning. Anton arrived back in Engla
nd from Chamonix. The three of us took a drive in the countryside. Anton said he had something important to tell mother, but guess who was walking across a muddy field? Only New Kid and his mother. Come to think of it, she looked a little disorientated. Think New Kid had rotted her brain over the months. Against our protestations, Anton decided he couldn’t leave her in such a desperate state. Very noble. ‘Yes we can,’ I said.

  Whilst driving back home, I was arguing with New Kid as usual, when it happened. The car skidded off the road. The road was wet but Anton tried undertaking a tight corner at speed in his rented Citroen 2CV. I can still remember the sound of the screaming engine.

  Next moment, Anton cursed, mother stopped talking, and I swore.

  This was my slow motion, terror movie. We got the girl, we got the psychotic lunatics, and now we have the killer. The only thing missing was the popcorn.

  I remember looping the loop three or four times before catapulting through the air and ending head-over-heels, upside down.