fetal ovenbird My son’s class is learning about how human babies are born. His teacher brings in the eggs, translucent and jaundiced, and sets one in front of each child. The baby inside my son’s egg is ready to hatch. It presses its head against the thin membrane, revealing sparse hair like sea_grass in a tidal current. The vellum surface splits, spilling amniotic fluid, hot and viscous. The baby tumbles out onto the floor, lying still in a fetal curl, eyes closed, skin coated with vernix. I look at all that waxy pale potential and wonder what has become of my own. 250803 what's it to you? who go blather from