I’m pregnant.

I lie on a hospital bed with my feet up in front me in stirrups. I’m wearing a white gown patterned tiny blue diamonds. My hands lay flat, facing down on the bed either side of me.

My belly is a round globe.

A midwife appears at my feet. I recognise her face but can’t place it. She looks between my legs and I feel exposed, embarrassed. She nods her head and reaches under my gown.

Somehow a baby comes out of me. I watch my stomach deflate and flatten to nothing as the midwife reappears from beneath my gown.

She cradles a newborn baby in one hand which wriggle it’s limbs in a stilted abstract rhythm.

A nurse appears by her side and passes the midwife a knitting needle. The midwife takes the needle and stabs the baby. There is an audible pop and the baby deflates like a balloon. The deflated skin hangs limply over each side of the midwife’s hand. She passes the airless flesh to the nurse who gives her a brand new fully inflated baby. It squirms in her hands as she goes back beneath my gown.

My stomach inflates to a round globe.

I’m pregnant