They all take care of me: the church, the state, the doctors and judges. For nine months they all wish me the best. I am something precious and they protect me.
As an unborn I am supposed to grow and flourish. Ignorant as to my gender, my language and my race -- with meals on tap and free bed and board -- I can have a good time without worrying about what tomorrow brings. You see, we unborn get it good even if we don't know who we are.
Come to think of it -- and thinking is something I'm not usually noted for -- for all I know I could be an orangutan or some other life form as my zoological attributes are presently unapparent to me. Such ready scholarship is not my forte and besides I am yet to learn to read or speak and have no idea what my kind looks like.
But let's assume I possess 23 chromosomes and may pass my born days as human. Give me nine months to get my X's and XY's together and I'll be dilated to meet you.
