Congratulations New Person!

The flood of light will literally defy your senses as you emerge from the birth canal.  The muted pulsations of another's heart will be traded for the rush and roil of air as the world begins to coalesce around you: a swirling, cold billow of sensation, full to bursting with sights and sounds, permissive, just barely, of your needs, of your wants.  Your mother's hands, just barely familiar, will find you have a few seconds of clumsy fumbling, but the world itself, its affluence of sensations, will be suffocating.

As it slowly comes in to focus, things won't seem any better.  Fluorescent lights, HVAC equipment buzzing constantly to suppress the climate, to keep you or your mother from being even somewhat uncomfortable.  Hurried people with cold faces and dead eyes will move around the two of you, intent on getting the two of you out of the room as quickly as possible.  Foreign sounds will bounce off the inside of your ears, hinting at notions of meaning, but nothing will be apparent.  The only sensation that will bring you any sort of comfort will be the feel of your mother's skin, but even that will seem cold and distant compared to your memories of life inside her.

So you'll do the only thing you can do: you'll weep.  You'll weep for the loss of your old home, for the pain and overstimulation of being alive.  You'll weep for the cold firmament surrounding you, for the sudden onrush of stuff, for the lack of any other capacity for expression, for the knowledge that things will, you know for a fact, never be as good as they used to be.

Congratulations New Person!