Clay




To the mound of clay growing into a perfect human sculpture in my womb,

 

The doctor told me today that I have the power of moulding you in whichever way I wanted to, just like the way sculptures shape a mound of clay. I never was the creative one, and the idea of moulding you into whatever way I want you to, scares me.

 

What if I turn you into you into something which would fill you with regret? After all, you’ll be shaped into something of my choice, and you’d have to stick with that for the rest of your life. What if I mess it up?

 

Mumma is scared, love. But there’s something she would share with you. She won’t be dictating what kind of baby she wants to have. That would make you a product which I’d order for myself, isn’t it? But you’re not a product; you’re a part of me. You are the epitome of perfection which two imperfect people created out of love.




 
So, here’s what I’ll tell you, buddy. I want you to be strong because my womb isn’t going to protect you all your life. Try to be assertive and be compassionate and kind too. You’ll grow up and do whatever you’d want to do, because mumma and papa won’t be imposing their wishes on you.

 

Mumma always keeps thinking how you’d turn out to be. Papa always hums songs to you. He has a really nice voice, doesn’t he? Tell him that when he takes you in his arms.

 

I’ll be sleeping now, love. Mould yourself in whatever way you want to. Mumma loves you and will always do so.


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