Open Letter to a Fetus

Dear Unborn Person,

You may think things are going quite well.  First of all, you now exist, as proven by the Descartian act of thinking.  Up to this point, your experience of life consists of loitering, comfortably wet and naked, and meeting the low expectations put upon you.  In that respect, your life is the French ideal.  However, umbilical cords are like anything else- they only let you go so far.  The time will come for you to be cut free and start paying taxes to support the French population.  Unless...
In these modern days, you are in a dangerous place.  I won't bore you with statistics or my thoughts on the erratic changeability of a woman's mood, but many others in your position continue to meet gruesome fates.  There is nothing you can do to avoid a close encounter with a coat hanger, nor can your father legally keep you from becoming medical waste if your mother thinks it would be a nifty solution to a nine month abdomen crisis.  At best, your life requires some changes to your mother's.  It is hard enough to walk in high heels without a womb worm throwing off the delicate balance between style and agony.  We need not discuss the mutual exclusivity of pregnancy and miniskirts except to say engineering and fashion have their limits.  My point, little parasite, is that some ladies highly value Saturday nights at the club.  To some, swelling up and puking all the time do not compare favourably.
I don't know what advice to give you.  If you hold still and try not to be an imposition, your host may not think of you as a person and will be more likely to flush you out of her.  If you move around a lot and cause a real fuss, you may cause her to ponder what the next twenty years will be like and increase the chances of you getting poked with a sharp medical device by someone who didn't have the intellect to become a real doctor.  The best you can do is use the Roller Coaster Technique- close your eyes and hang on tight.  Should you survive the Passchendaele that is childhood, you will find it is also an excellent method to get through high school, marriage, and trips to the dentist.
Good luck, kid.  The rest is poop.