Posted: Jul 18, 08 7:43pm
(This is an odd thing I based on DREAM. I altered it, of course. Way too weird. Yes, I do want critique, just because our dreams aren't always stuff to base a story on. and I wondered if there was something there for anyone.) Basically, in critique, I wanted to know if anyone related to it at all. Don't monitor spelling or commas. That doesn't help. Just say: monumental snore, or there's somethng there. Or say nothing at all. I respect that.
Tadpole
This was Marcella’s first, so she wasn’t worried that her baby would arrive tonight – three weeks early, and in such a rush that she wouldn’t know what was happening until it was all over.
No, it wasn’t the first time the insistent pains disturbed her sleep at some late hour, and as usual she sipped a cup of heated milk and tried to rub the pains away. Only, this time the tight gripping pinch in her belly didn’t let up, but grew tighter, sharper and longer, and she drew herself a full tub of warm water to relax in.
She dropped her robe. Her skin was stretched like a drumhead over the full-sized watermelon that was her belly, and she planted her feet wide as she grabbed the edge of the shower door. Holding on, she lifted and planted one foot into the tub water, then the other.
The life lurched within and her skin tightened. Grabbing the faucet and soap tray, she lowered her bulky self onto her knees, rocked back onto her buttocks and straightened her legs.
The buoyancy lightened her load and the warmth soothed her aches. She laid back and let the water wash over her, even as the vise-like pressure intensified.
“Ah!” She sighed, wincing and trying to rub away to hurt. Her vibrating belly, breaching the surface like the back of a submerged whale, was rippling the water around her.
“Are you okay, Hon?” Gabe called from their bedroom. This was his first baby too. He had done his best to follow along and do whatever he could. When Marcella didn’t sleep, he couldn’t sleep either.
“I’m feeling something different,” she answered. “It’s like an earthquake rumbling in there, or maybe a volcano building.”
“Discomfort?” he asked. He knew the correct nomenclature from the books and the classes. Pain was a negative.
“Hell,” she said. “It hurts so bad, I can’t move my legs. I couldn’t get out of here if I had to.
“And now,” she grunted deep from the base of her throat, “there’s a different kind of pressure. Unstoppable. Whooo, whooo! Need to push,” - (pant, pant). “Don’t just stand there… take my hand! I need to vacate this cavity. Hear… what I’m saying? Whoo, whooo!”
“Hold on,” said Gabe. I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t be… pushing. Wait….No…. Don’t do anything. Hold it right there. I’ll call the ambulance… hear?”
Ah, the ease of sweet expulsion.
They told people their daughter Gabriella was born swimming, and so she was, paddling to the top of the tepid rosy water, soft and silent, from water to water again.
At that point, Gabe led the EMT’s through the door to close the deal. Relief was written all over poor Gabe’s face.
Now, watching Gabriella bounce in her walker, her slick rosy lips spread in a grin over her toothless gums, or staring at any spot in the room and breaking into hiccupping laughter, Marcella wonders why the baby almost never cries. Could it be the circumstances of her birth, so odd and freakish, and yet so…happy? Or had she inherited her disposition?
Perhaps not.
