Mother: Baby, can you hear me?
Fetus: Where am I?
Mother: Oh, good! You can hear me. I’m your mother.
Fetus: Mama! Am I really in your belly? I’m floating in water …
Mother: That’s called the ami—ani—amniotic fluid. Hard word, I know. I just learned it today, too.
Fetus: What is this sound? It’s like thunder far away.
Mother: That’s my heartbeat. You’re inside me, remember?
Fetus: I like this place; I want to stay here forever.
Mother: Ha, you can’t do that! You’ve got to be born.
Fetus: No! It’s scary out there.
Mother: Oh … we’ll talk more about that later.
Fetus: What’s this line connected to my tummy, Mama?
Mother: That’s your umbilical cord. When you’re inside mommy, you need it to stay alive.
Fetus: Hmmm. Mama, you’ve never been where I am, have you?
Mother: I have! Before I was born, I was inside my mother, too. Except I don’t remember what it was like there, and that’s why you can’t remember, either. Baby, is it dark inside mommy? Can you see anything?
Fetus: There’s a faint light coming from outside. It’s a reddish-orange glow, like the color of the sky when the sun is just setting behind the mountain at Xitao Village.
Mother: You remember Xitao? That’s where I was born! Then you must remember what mommy looks like?
. . .
