We’ve Got It Backwards

The people in green surround her stirruped form. A man holds her hand and pride brims in his eyes to spill down his cheeks. It was a girl! the doctor cries, and the man shlupps the umbilical. The doctor bends down with the quieting child. With a quick push, and a gasp from the woman, the infant slides in almost without effort. An easy pregnancy. The woman glows proudly through her sweat and the man wipes at his tears.

Nine months, huh? she smirks at him. Boy oh boy, he slaps a forehead, looks like I won’t be able to hit the pub with my friends. Hee hee, she giggles, yes you can, but no drinking! Ain’t fair I can’t get a pint in me too. They beam at each other.

Honey, my ankles feel less swollen, she looks mangily at him. He, dogged with ragged exhaustion, stoops and strokes her legs. Oh! I feel her moving! C’mon, quick! Her smile is wonderful and he can forgive her. His hands enfold her bump and traces the strong motions underneath. He presses his ear against her navel. Seven is a lucky number.

We’re at five months now, she chatters proudly at her friends as she absently fondles her bump. They throng around her and place manicured hands onto her bare flesh. Ooh! I felt it! They giggle like a pack of hyenas.

It’s so small, she murmurs. ‘Course, honey. We’re only three months along, he reassures. Tomorrow, we return the crib. Yes, she looks at him from her book, don’t forget the stroller as well.

It’s time, her eyes glowed, for the baby! He absently looks at her, walks to the calendar, peers over his spectacles. That time of the month, huh? Their lips meet and their bodies grind in well rehearsed congress. In the warm sucking darkness, the ovum spits out plop! the spermatooza and recedes into its soft wall. Like a thin line of ectoplasm threading a moonless night, the lone sex cell gushes into his member and returns to the snug state of spermatogonium.

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