Dianne left in the early afternoon and Meghan’s
parents were still a few hours away from getting of work. I sat in young Miss
Cafferty’s bedroom, laptop flipped open upon her desk, staring at an email in
her ‘Drafts’ folder with the subject line: ‘Hey Garner—Read This’. It was
undoubtedly another of her cute but confusing missives meant to ease me further
into our own private ‘trading places’ reality show.
I was still bikinied, but now had a large beach
towel wrapped about me from chest to thighs. Encased in its fluffy moist bulk,
I felt like an enormous multi-colored segmented grub. The baby was quite active
at the moment, fretting in my belly. It managed to somersault onto its head and
now its butt was high and to the left, just under my ribcage. I could plainly
feel it’s posterior and lower back jutting toward that side, while the upper
right side of my belly was now much less hard.
One never gets used to this sort of thing.
Especially when one is not supposed to have a womb in the first place, let
alone a womb as full as Meghan’s.
