This is only slightly relevant but some, like me, may find it both amusing and sad. It's from page one of Ian Pattison's novel "A Stranger Here Myself", Picador, 2000. Pattison is the Scottish creator of the cult character, Rab C. Nesbitt. This is Nesbitt in his mother's womb.

"A man and a woman, my parents, are arguing the toss. 'I'm having the kid' she's yelling. "You're not having the kid", the man's yelling back. There's a noise like a soup pan bouncing off a head. A moment later a knitting needle, size eight, appears like a periscope, trying to jab me up the sac. I cling to a membrane, out of harm's way. The needlt retracts. There's more yelling, screaming, and a flurry of expletives barked in rage. A door slams. All is silent but for a background muzak of gritty female wailing, a comforting noise, since it always precedes the onset of a tobacco binge and I'm twitchy and eager for a fix. Indeed I look guiltly at the nicotine stains on my unformed fingertips and make a mental note to cut down. Lately I've been finding myself out of breath after a couple of circuits of the womb and in the mornings I've been coughing up tar. Maybe tomorrow. Right now I take a great double lungful and lie back in the sac."