When one feels nostalgic

It's been a month since I was in the womb. It's been a month since my mummy had a bump. A question rarely asked is whether I like it out of the womb. At least one lady has mentioned that mummy should enjoy her bump before it's gone. (I should probably add that that lady so likes bumps she's got another.)

The thing is that when I was in the womb, I could never experience the outside. And mummy, with the bump, was rather limited in her movement. Well, she could, say, squat, but had immense difficulty getting up again.

Nowadays, however, we've started using this thing called a "sarong". Ok, we haven't really started using it. We've been practising the use of it for about a week now, but have yet to get a grip on using it confidently enough - without, say, running the risk of distracting the speaker if we were to attend church on Sunday morning.

Supposedly popular among Malaysians and David Beckham, it allows me to remember my time in the womb. And for my mum to remember the bump. She can wrap me up and try playing midwife, feeling my body and trying to guess the part. She can also carry me around and feel me kicking like I did before. Except I kick much more forcefully now, and accompany my kicks with cries and screams. And farts.