My Voice of Comfort

Warm. So very warm. 

Thump, thump, thump plays the background rhythm, my only stimulation.

I am suspended, floating in my new world, almost completely unaware.

***

Drifting around in the darkness I feel free. My arms and legs move randomly, herky jerky, before I slowly discover how to set myself in motion. One good kick spirals me around then tires me quickly. I have to stop and rest.

Sudden noises and movements startle me. My arms and legs flail out, my own thump, thump, thump quickens until I can relax again, letting sleep take over. 

***

My space is my playground. Mastering the art of movement, I tumble and stretch with ease, my limbs eager, knowing no bounds. 

The voice enters my playground, bringing me happiness as it is my voice of comfort.

Music filters in, the beat so near it replaces the ever-present thump, thump, thump. I begin to recognize the repetitive melodies as they are played over and over again. I move when I hear the rhythm enter my world, faster and faster I swirl about. When that voice sings out to me in my darkness it makes me dance with joy. 

Laughter seeps through, matching my own happiness. I feel lightness as I float peacefully to the quiet gentler rhythm before I settle down exhausted, ready for my much needed rest.

New sounds appear constantly, startling me until they become familiar or disappear. I feel movement, motion, jostling about. My sleep becomes disturbed by these unexpected noises and voices as I jump in reflex. Voices spoken slowly calm me back down.

Sometimes I play excitedly in my playground only to feel gentle patting on my walls, hearing a familiar “Shh ... Shh … Shh …” quieting me down, reminding me to get some sleep.

***

I cross my arms in front of me, content, my legs drawn up to my chest. My world, which was once wide open, is now confining. I feel comfort in its closeness. I listen in peace to the sounds coming in, the words, music, and laughter. The occasional jostling is not scary anymore as I am secure in my position. I feel gentle stroking coming from the outside while at rest. There is less movement and motion, more time at rest. 

***

Tight. So very tight. Gone is the comfort of my space. The playground of the past becomes just a vague memory slipping away little by little until almost gone. Squeezed in and unable to move, I lean against the walls in protest. Laughter and words come back at me. I push harder over and over, happiness at hearing that voice again and again.

***

Excitement. The ever present thump, thump, thump becomes faster and faster, waking me from a light sleep. Something feels different. I become scared, absorbing the nervous pattern of that beat. Movement surrounds me. Unfamiliar loud sounds fill my space. The calm that brings me comfort is missing, replaced by a high pitched and frenzied voice. Many other loud voices enter my space. Jostling begins while something is pressing on my walls surprisingly hard. Beeping creeps in, a noise not heard before. I hug my legs, bringing them even closer to my chest, and squeeze them tight.

***

What is happening? I feel pressure. Terrible pressure. I am scared. There is no place to move but I feel forced to try. The voice of my comfort now in discomfort. Her pain is my pain.

***

Stuck. Unmoving. 

***

Tight. Screaming. Unbearable. 

***

New voices. Calm voices repeating words over and over slowly and steadily. 

I hear the whoosh, whoosh, whoosh of her breath as our breathing finds each other’s pattern. 

***

Downward. I move downward slowly and painfully through intense tightness. Distress fills me as my comfort is lost and my world is changing. 

“You’re almost there. I can see the head!”

I feel pressure, a tugging sensation on my shoulders.

“One more big push! You can do it!"

Suddenly, I am pulled out of my home. Shocked, I try to absorb my new surroundings.

The darkness surprises me with the first hint of light. I didn’t know it existed.

***

Cold.

Bright.

Noisy.

Where is my voice of comfort? I strain to listen, but the other voices are closer, louder, forcing hers away to the background. Everything is strange as my last fragments of memory slip away. This brand new world is huge and open, forcing my arms and legs to frantically search for footing, but finding none.

I scream.

***

Placed on an icy cold surface, tears stream down my face in anger and fear. A bright light shines in my eyes while my mouth is forced open. My arms and legs pulled and stretched out when all they want is to be curled up in protection. 

“Seven pounds, six ounces. Nineteen inches. Heartrate excellent. Reflexes perfect.” 

“Congratulations, Mama!”

“Nurse, please clean the baby right away. Her mama is eager to see this little miracle.”

“Yes, doctor. My pleasure.”

Finally a gentle voice speaks to me, soft and caressing. Not my voice of comfort but almost the same. I feel warm water wash over me, then I am dried and wrapped tightly in softness. This calms me. It’s familiar, close, but not quite what I crave. I squeeze my eyes shut to the brightness.

***

“Hello, little one.” The words are finally crystal clear, spoken so closely I can feel them on my cheek.

I open my eyes. It’s her. 

“I’ve been waiting a long time to meet you,” she says, comforting me like no other could.

I lie my head down on her. The thump, thump, thump comes through my ear rather than surrounding me. It’s a rhythm that feels familiar. I look up, gazing into her eyes, as that voice caresses me.

Gentle rocking. Singing. My voice of comfort surrounds me. I look into her eyes before closing mine, feeling a soft kiss on my cheek. 

***

… Twenty five years later …

“I wonder what it’s like in there,” I whisper to my mother as I lie in the hospital bed. 

She places her hands on my belly, gently stroking. “I don’t suppose we’ll ever know.”

“Do you think she’ll recognize my voice?”

“Yes, I’m sure she will.”

“I can’t wait to finally meet her and cover her with kisses.”

“It won’t be long now.” She smiles at me, softly humming an old familiar tune from long ago, soothing me, giving me comfort.