4 Birth

Before anyone complains that I was too accepting of this odd development, let me remind you that it was either that or completely and utterly freak out. For the sake of my own mental health, I decided that I would go with the flow until I had more control over the situation. Not to stress the point too much, but even being able to walk would have been a – a-hem – step up.

Time slipped by unremarkably. Mostly I slept. Sometimes I heard my so-called mother's voice singing to me. Other times the man stopped by and sang, or played a musical instrument. As I became used to my new state, my old life seemed increasingly unimportant. I remembered everything that I had before, of course, but without the same fervency. The memories were simultaneously real and dreamlike. I looked forward to hearing my mother's voice more than I mourned the past voices of my children.

One day I realized that something had changed. I felt constrained, squashed. The panic began to rise again and I once again thought of kicking and punching. This time, though, it wasn't just a vague sensation of reaction, I could actually feel my environment. It was yielding and soft. I twisted and turned. I was surprised that I could move, then gleeful. More! More! I pushed with all of my limbs one way, then the other. It was uncoordinated, but it didn't matter as long as my hands and feet hit something. Oh, and I had finally confirmed that I had hands and feet, because there were four different sensations in four directions. Unless I had four tentacles? Not important now. Moving was important. MOVE!

And then I was tired again. Damn it. I was so close. I fell into a dreamless sleep. When I awoke, I moved again. The cycle repeated several times. At some point my mother and the man arrived and I could hear them encouraging me and speaking to each other. If they were going to observe, they should at least help a bit; this was exhausting. Anger reinvigorated my thrashing and then all of a sudden everything popped.

I was in water! And I still couldn't breathe. I think I was supposed to breathe at this point. This was like when my daughter showed me her new laptop and I thought that I would be able to work it, then the screen froze and she started scolding me. Me! Her mother who was supposed to be able to do anything – absolutely useless! What was the point of being reincarnated if the memories were a hindrance?? What was I supposed to do now?!

I went from being trapped to sinking. My mother had abandoned me. She didn't want me after all. I was going to die from drowning; this was even less peaceful than my first death. How was this fair? I didn't ask to be reborn. I didn't want any of this. At least it was warm. It wasn't all that uncomfortable, in some ways it felt right, but it still felt lonely. I wanted my mother.

Multiple tentacles wrapped around my torso – oh, wait, they're called fingers. Lifted out of the water, I was wrapped in a towel and settled in my mother's arms. I knew this because when I looked up, I saw a woman whose face matched the voice I had been hearing for so long. And her scent that drifted around me was the best thing I had ever smelled. I will never be able to describe it, but I will always recognize it. I could walk through a crowded room and her scent would be a tree in a flower field. I knew immediately that I loved her, and thus I was firmly tied to this new life.