I don't mean to dwell too much on pregnancy and birth, but ideas and topics of discussion concerning birth and pregnancy seem to be enwombing our little family. One thing that has struck me of late is how different the experience in the uterus is from how I had previously imagined it. I've heard the womb being compared to The Garden of Eden: it is warm, comfortable, safe. Getting born is kind of like being thrust out of The Garden: it is cold, scary, dangerous, and annoying. In fact, I even read a book once that suggested that one of the strongest unconscious desires humans posses is the drive to return to the womb. At the time that sounded like an interesting idea. Now I think it is dumb.

Granted, during the first six months following conception, life in the womb might actually be kind of interesting. The fetus has room to flip around, sort of stretch out a little bit. When Mom's belly brushes against a sharp corner, Baby barely feels it for all the amniotic fluid protecting it. But in the third trimester, when the baby is approaching some form of cogitation, when the baby might actually be able to think: "You know, I don't have it so bad, especially compared to all those kids who have to breathe air and wear coats in the cold and be shushed quiet in church," then the baby flips upside-down, and that, I imagine, is when things become less idyllic.

Our baby has apparently turned; she is head-down. Her head is shoved into the top of my wife's pelvis and it is going to stay that way (hopefully, at least for Elizabeth) until Elizabeth delivers the baby in mid-April. What kind of Garden of Eden is that? It would be like wearing a motorcycle helmet that didn't ever move when you tried to turn your head. And you are upside down for months at a time. And you are growing larger and larger, filling up the already cramped space with your legs and arms, which now have to stay folded up all the time. I imagine the experience being similar to going cave exploring and falling into a long hole head-first, a hole that has a recessed area at the bottom into which your head so nicely fits that you can't even turn your head from side to side. This walls of this hole encompass you so thoroughly that your arms are pinned against your sides. Your legs are pressed down against your butt by a pile of rubble that collapsed on top of them. Sure it might be warm and maybe even sort of comfortable in a weird way, but this would also be disconcerting, maybe even alarming.

As for metaphorically returning to the womb, I don't think my unconscious mind longs for it. Give me cold, uncomfortable, bright-lighted confusion. At least I can stretch my legs when I need to.

I know you might be thinking: "Yes, but a fetus has never called anything home but the uterus; she doesn't know any better and maybe she even appreciates her mother's hospitality. The fetus is probably relishing the knowledge that until she squeezes out under that bony arch, she is worry-free: no debt; no obligations; no skinned knees; no one to offend or be offended by." But really, think about it, really think about the physical dimensions of the third trimester for the baby. I think no one (even someone who doesn't really think yet) would like that. Maybe the trauma of birth is a welcome relief.