My embryonic fluid warms me, massages me, keeps me calm and comfortable even when I can tell that the motion from outside should be jarring. Mom's jogging. Were it not for the liquid around me, I'd probably be covered in bruises by now, the repetitive up, down, jump, rebound, flight, impact. My womb is nature's perfect package, proof that ingenuity did not originate with the human mind. No engineer or designer, stylist or artist, could create such an exquisite dwelling. It's a cozy habitat, an affectionate hug. Mom's feet and ankles will be sore, might even suffer damage manifesting itself in arthritis, foot ache, or joint stiffness. But for me this is a cushy ride.Mom is running now.I don't hear any birds or cars or outdoor sounds, only the chatter of voices, machinery, and light music. No scent of trees or flowers, just the smell of sweat and metal. Mom must be at the gym, on a treadmill. Mom's heartbeat has elevated and it pounds like a bass drum. Her breath is deep and fast and heavy. Even suspended in liquid, I'm thirsty, as though my body knows it needs water. Within moments, the running stops. Mom drinks and the water rushes in and cools me. Soon after, I hear the sound of water pelting Mom's body like rain. After her shower, Mom dips into the pool, where everything seems to be masked in another layer of insulation, as though Mom herself is in a large womb, inside a body slightly warmer than her own. I feel Mom begin to relax. Mom needs a cozy place to settle into, insulated from the stress and demands and complications of the outside world. A womb of her own.