Temporary Secretary

Part 62

15 September 1981

9:00pm Tuesday

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You poked the side of your stomach. It poked back.

It was still so odd to see. You hadn't been prepared in the early stages, that you'd see it poke from your skin like that alien movie.

These days you could only either stand to sit or lie down, doing tasks that didn't require much effort. You didn't have your shifts at the library anymore, so the days seemed to stretch on and on.

Ever since taking off your proper job, you'd spent more time knitting, though that too was off the table, now that your hands cramped up if you were at it too long.

It did make you a little downcast, the uselessness. You wouldn't say you were as much of a workaholic as Paul, though you could relate to a hatred of being idle. If it was something you enjoyed, you enjoyed productivity. Your knitting, for one. Or cleaning, or cooking, the satisfaction of getting something done.

You pulled your legs onto the sofa, attempting to get comfortable. Your growing invalidity depressed you at times, but it was also true that you must be full of hormones. You weren't sure how much of your emotions you ought to trust.

There were no good programs on. It was getting late, and they'd shut off some of the channels. You didn't care to look at the time, but it was dark out. You no longer wore your wristwatch, as there was nowhere you had to be.

It was uncomfortable laying down. You leant back into the cushion, blurrily looking at the television.

You shut your eyes, head tilting to the side. You felt tired enough to doze. Even if the strange pains and jerky movements woke you up at night, you didn't have much trouble with that. You'd fall asleep anytime, wherever you were comfortable. You had become a damned narcoleptic because of this kid.

At least the days weren't as long as the summertime. You didn't like having the sun shone in your eyes.

You folded your arms over yourself. You had a knit blanket over you. It was getting cold at night.

It wouldn't last forever. The kid would be born, and you'd be yourself again. Hopefully. Even if your body wasn't the same, at least you'd not be pregnant anymore.

Paul would be happy. There was that to look forward to.

He'd even take the kid off your hands now and again. That'd be the difference between having it in or out. You could finally hand it off to Paul.

Maybe he'd play with it for a little bit, (nuzzle it or whatever he was waiting so eagerly for), and you can go lie down in the dark, on your stomach. You could fall asleep without being interrupted by shoves and jabs from within your overstuffed midsection. You'd finally be alone again, the first time in nearly a year.

You realised you were smiling, and let out a brief laugh.

Even that was a little wistful thinking. This was the exact opposite of being left alone, going through with having a baby. It'd need constant attention, and constant touching. It'd never be just the two of you again. At least, not for a while.

You felt yourself drifting to the side. The television was still playing.

You didn't feel alone now. It was hard to, the presence inside making itself very known, even if it wasn't moving. Though now it did move more often than not. Less rolling, more jabs. You hadn't felt it roll for a while now, maybe in a consistent position.

Maybe Paul envied that connection, being around it always, feeling its presence always. You'd gladly trade off with him.

You did feel cozy in the blanket. Even if you were stuffed full, drifting off, curled on the sofa, you could feel somewhat contented.