birth

Little Whittier's life began rather unceremoniously with an uncomfortable squelch and a little plop.  His first opinion of the world was that it was far too cold here, and not at all as cozy as where he had been (though it was far better than that horrible tunnel he'd just been vacuumed through - wtf was up with that thing, anyway?).  All in all, he was rather unhappy with this change of atmosphere, and made certain to let whoever was around him with a series of little squeaks and baby growls.

It was right about then that comfort began to return to him in the form of one of those lumps he'd shared his prior bed with bonking him right in the head during his exit from the womb.  Whit jerked away for about a second before clambering wildly towards him, all four limbs flailing about, useless really for they did nothing to make him move.  Why weren't they working?  This used to work... Was he doing it wrong?  Oh wait, here we go.  We're moving now.  Moving, moving, moving, being smashed against something soft next to some other lumps, not moving... Why not moving?  Wait's this pokey nub jabbing me in the face?

Whit made a few more sounds to express his discontent before opening his mouth to explore this squishy wall he'd been shoved into.  And that was when the little boy experienced this most wonderful of things known as dinner.  With greedy fervor, he suckled upon the super awesome knob thing that he'd discovered, all of his negative emotions completely forgotten at the thrill of this new experience - eating.

Yeah.. he could get used to this.