The First Trimester, Part 5: Down to Earth

This is the next installment of my autobiography, The Birth of Tippy Gnu.
To read the previous installment, click this link.
To start at the beginning, click this link.


The First Trimester,
Part 5:
Down to Earth

Then it struck him. He was going to be a daddy again. A daddy! A new kid was on its way. And something paternal deep inside began to well up with excitement and pride. Poor bastard, he couldn’t help it. Nature was at work playing with his head, helping to keep the human species alive. The evolutionary work of nature brought out his paternal instinct. It made him love the idea of fathering a child.

He always had mixed feelings about fatherhood. On the one hand, kids were expensive and a pain in the ass. But on the other hand, they were wonderful little companions and fun playtoys.

He looked back at his anxious wife. He fought back a smile, but couldn’t help it. Mom smiled back. Then they both began to giggle. Finally they began debating good-naturedly about whether they wanted a boy or a girl. A boy, they agreed. They already had three girls. And they hugged each other and fell back onto the bed and cuddled for awhile.

Mom’s plan was working like a charm. The Gnu family got a boost of new life, thanks to me and my misfortune.

I got so involved watching this little dramedy that I didn’t notice my limits shrinking further. I tried to return to Saturn, but couldn’t even make it past the asteroid belt. I had to settle for Mars.

And then the umbilical pull of my ethereal tail yanked me off the red sand of a crater, and back to outer space, dragging me closer and closer to Earth.

I perched upon the moon and watched the womb. I didn’t like the idea of being ensouled inside that growing fetus, because I’d had so much fun on the Other Side. I missed the Other Side terribly. But I noticed that my feelings were becoming more and more ambivalent. I was starting to like my mom and dad and siblings. I was getting involved in their lives, watching their little daily dramas. A part of me looked forward to the day I could interact with them and be a part of all the family action.

But mostly, I wanted to return to the Other Side.

Ten weeks into my mother’s pregnancy, the tail that tethered me to her belly gave me a good hard tug, and off the moon I flew. Downward I dove into the Earth’s atmosphere. I tried flying left and right to pull myself away, but it kept reeling me in like a five-pound bass on a 50-pound line.

It finally stopped when I was at the upper limits of the troposphere, about five miles above the Earth’s surface. I was left with a jumbo jet’s eye view of the planet I was fated to inhabit for the next, maybe 70, 80, 90 years, who knows?

I could travel back and forth from the sky to the womb, and I often did. I surveyed the area I would live in. Then I surveyed the body I would live in. I had a lot of morbid curiosity about the whole thing, so I did plenty of exploring. I got to know my neighborhood, the local grocery store where my mom shopped, my dad’s place of work, his mistress’s house and neighborhood, and all kinds of other places that piqued my interest.

At 12 weeks, the body I would become imprisoned in had grown to fill my mother’s entire uterus. It was a disgusting looking thing, with a giant head and tiny, scrunched up, pink body. It was only about two inches long, but it was formed enough to look pretty much like a human. A weird human with a voluminous head.

At 13 weeks, I was up in the clouds relaxing on top of a Mare’s Tail, when that other tail, my tail, gave me another hard yank. And down I dropped. The tail zipped me nearly to ground level, through the roof of my family’s house. It stopped me about five feet above my mother’s belly.

This was traumatic for me. I could live with Saturn, Mars, the moon, and even the troposphere. But now I was like a dog on a leash, closely tethered to its owner. An untrained dog, who didn’t like to heal. A dog who wanted to run free, and sniff and explore. But I couldn’t do anything like that. I was stuck right there, close to a parent who would keep me under watch and ward for years to come.

I felt panicky. I felt angry. I felt resentful. And most of all, I felt helpless. I needed freedom. I swung around and around my mother, trying to get loose of her. But to no avail.

Finally I grew tired of all the swinging and flying about, and gave up. No amount of struggling did any good, except to drive me crazy. This was it. I had to surrender.


Come on back in a few days, or so, for the next installment of The Birth of Tippy Gnu, entitled, The Second Trimester, Part 1: The Aborted Abortion.

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