I'll be honest it felt so good I ignored things I might have otherwise taken very seriously. My new waistline, for example. My jeans, which had been loose before, were nowhere near fitting by the end of the week. Even my sweats had to be pulled down to practically pubic level after the second week. I was quite obviously pregnant, and in some fast-forward kind of way.

Once in a while, when I would have to find something even looser to fit around my changing body I would consider the consequences of this in a detached sort of way. Perhaps I ought to do something.

But the way I felt, nothing could be wrong. I lazed in the sun, which had become intoxicating. My hair shone and seemed to grow inches a day. My skin took on a healthy glow that none of the ridiculous products under the bathroom sink had ever achieved. Despite the incredible mushrooming my abdomen was undergoing, the skin was smooth and beautiful, not a single stretch mark to be seen.

I was happy and pleased with everything. I loved my body, and in the thought-free hours, days I spent in my little garden I would stroke myself, my legs my arms my breasts and my belly glorying in the rightness of every part.

I loved that my belly could grow so perfectly huge like a watermelon. I loved the twiney vines of my hair. I loved the ideal function and beautiful art of the skin and flesh that was me. Nothing was needed; everything was exactly as it should be.

I would rub my hands in circles over my belly and sing strange little songs. It felt like there was no time but the moment. The sun in the day, and darkness and sleep at night.

Of course, the fruit on my plant was growing too. I watch in complete satisfaction as the purplypink fruit grew as I swelled. I had become tight as round and warm in the sun.

It was on the 21st of June, the summer solstice I came outside as I'd been doing for the last three weeks and saw the fruit growing on the plant. I touched it and it fell into my palm. I raised it up to smell it, but surprised myself by taking a bite.

It was indescribably delicious, irresistible to the last scrap, and I licked the juice off my fingers in bliss.