A Few Little Pieces

I wake up.
I can't move.
I'm in a plastic Box the size of a deluxe model microwave. I've got wires and tubes stuck into parts of my body I don't want to think about and my diaper is wet.
Welcome to my world.
My name is Alicia Grace Fuller, and if you type it in 72 point Arial it's longer than I am. I weigh three pounds and nine ounces, but if you think that's small you should have seen me when I was born. That was two months ago.
But I don't think about the Past too much. I don't have very much of it. The Future is pretty overwhelming too; there seems to be a lot of that. Mostly I'm just in the Present.
Right now I'm lying on my back. I'd rather be on my front, but there's not a whole lot I can do about that. Some two-month-old babies could roll over, or at least flail and scream until someone did it for them. I open my mouth but all I can do is squeak. I sound like a damn Doggie Toy. Oh well, at least I don't have a tube down my throat anymore.
Right now all I've got is a couple prongs in my nostrils giving me a little extra oxygen. Hardly any, really. I don't need it. They're not even giving me the Drug anymore, the one that reminds me not to stop breathing. Sometimes I stop for a bit and a Nurse comes and rubs my back. Give it a rest, lady, can't I take a little break once in a while? Sheesh, this is only the second time today.
Alright, fine. I breathe.
I breathe.
I breathe.
I have a needle in my head now. They've never put a needle in my head before.
My Mother comes. I know her voice. She holds me. It's hard to leave my Box, but I like it when my Mother holds me. She is Warm and she is Soft and she is Love. She sings. I listen to her breathe and I listen to her Heart beat and her Heart beats slower than mine even though it is bigger. It is the size of my head.
Her Heart is the same size as my head.
Her Heart is the same size as my head and it beats slow and strong and tells me everything is all right and if I could smile I would.
Sometimes she puts her Breast near my mouth or in my mouth. She is doing this more lately. I suck it a little. It is nice. I don't swallow.
I get milk through a tube that goes through my nose down to my stomach. So I guess I do have a tube down my throat, but it's nothing compared to the one that breathed for me. I'd rather breathe on my own, even if I don't get any breaks.
Sometimes my Father comes. I think I know his voice too, not that he uses it much. He just holds my hand and looks at me. I look back at him but it is bright and I close my eyes.
I sleep.
I sleep.
I sleep a lot.
I am two months old.
Most babies are twice my size before they are two days old.
I have been in this Box since the day I was born, but soon I will be able to keep warm without it. And someday I will be able to keep warm without anything except clothes and I will eat all the milk I need straight from my Mother's Breast and I will never stop breathing even when I feel tired. And someday I will go Home. I don't know what Home is like but I don't think this Box is Home. They aren't going to let me go Home until I can do all those things but I can do them. I will do them.
Think I won't?
Just wait.