Baby, Baby, Baby <3

The pressure was what he felt first. It woke the tiny creature from his slumber and began to push him, pull him, force him out. There was discomfort, but it was minor - until the child's skin felt air for the first time, and his lungs caught it with a wet gasp; as his body connected to the den floor it felt like he had been falling through the cold forever, as the child had no sense of time. No perspective. Through his first gasp the bundle of wet parts squawked and squeaked. He felt a warm sensation upon his body that was comforting, because it meant the wetness would be gone, the cold would be banished. And then the pulling again - this time only nudges, not the bulging contortion of muscles; and he obeyed the feeling just as he was compelled to obey the initial spasms. The child burrowed his face in to the fuzz of his mother, unaware of how important these first few moments were. While this would go down in his mother's history as the most important day in her life (presumably), little Jacques was blissfully unaware. He would not remember his first breath, or the feeling of warm milk as he finally latched upon a teat and began to drink.