By Brittany Michelson
In the stroller, all parts of his body are covered. He stares into a canopy of blue blanket. He remembers the womb, that warm world of fluid and flesh. Being fed through the skin tube that ran from her belly to his. Of her many strange cravings, he liked the sweetness of carrots dipped in chocolate sauce the most. He rejected the bitter green juice, even though it was full of vitamins for his bones and his heart. He couldn’t feel the change in seasons down in there, blocked by a wall of skin, but he could feel when she coughed or sneezed, and the shudder through her body when she received pleasure. When she cried her whole body shook and he floated amongst her sadness, unsure of which organ to cling to.
Out of the birth canal, it was all lights and sounds, beeps and screams and monitors. They took him from her in an instant, something about tests and her need to recuperate. In that instant, his vulnerability belonged to strangers with cold hands and metal tools.
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