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An Unborn Baby Writes to Its Mum

The BFD

By George

Hi Mum, I’m your unborn baby. I have been slowly growing inside you now for six weeks and guess what! My heart has started to beat, cool ah? Not only that, but my brain and nervous system are developing rapidly. Your warm womb is my home, my safe place, wow! I’m a little human now but I’m too young to fend for myself; however, there is nothing more reassuring than being loved as I mature towards my entry into the world.

You’re quite entertaining really. You should hear the weird noises your stomach makes but I know you are eating responsibly as is required for my development. I must apologise if I have caused a minor inconvenience for you, but I really do appreciate you not drinking alcohol whilst I find my feet, so to speak. There will be plenty of time to celebrate after I enter the real world. Just to keep you in the loop Mum, I have found my thumb and guess what? I can put in my mouth, isn’t that cool?

I’m twelve weeks old now and would you believe it, my vocal cords have developed so we might even have a conversation! But what has come as a great relief is that I can now pee! And as my genitals are fully formed. Guess what Mum? I’m a boy! I’m looking forward to turning sixteen weeks when I can hold my head erect and with the development of my facial muscles will be able to manage a variety of expressions, such as squinting and frowning. So don’t tell any jokes Mum, otherwise my laughter might disturb you.

I heard you having a discussion with our doctor. I couldn’t understand what you were talking about but I heard the word “abortion” mentioned, whatever that means. We’re nearly halfway through our pre-birth bonding and I’m becoming quite excited as the big birthday draws near.

Mum, why are we at the abortion clinic? Aren’t you feeling well? I’m feeling uneasy and a little guilty that I may have made you unwell. Hold on Mum, what’s that contraption approaching me? It’s like a hose on a mini vacuum cleaner and it’s starting to pull me towards it. Mum help me, they are hurting me. Is this what you want? Mum stop them. Why aren’t you protecting me? Just give me a few more weeks to live. Did you know prem babies have survived at twenty-one weeks? What have I done to make you so mad? Just three more weeks. Please, Mum, please! If you don’t want me that’s okay. I’m sure there is someone who would love me. I’m slowly dying Mum. Bye bye Mum, so sorry I was such a nuisance and inconvenience but I still love you and I do appreciate that you at least allowed me to live for eighteen weeks.

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