‘My Body Cannot Forget Your Body’ by Kirsty Logan
You’ve heard that when you give birth, the baby can come out in a variety of forms, but there’s really no need to worry about it. Whatever emerges, eventually it will all come together and make a baby. You might give birth to a quartet of mango-sized objects. Or a whole big bunch of grape-sized objects (painless, but takes a while). Or, if you’re unlucky, a pair of blood orange-sized objects (which you haven’t seen, but imagine is a bit of a struggle).
You’ve heard of women birthing things like runner beans, like carrots, like kumquats. You have often wondered why the size of a baby is always compared to fruit and vegetables, but no one has answers for you so you might as well stop wondering. Whatever form the baby comes out, it will all be fine in the end.
Your friend Edith births five equal-sized lemons. She says it was awful, just awful, but in the post-birth photo she puts online she’s wearing lipstick and her forehead isn’t even shiny, so you’re unconvinced. You think you’d quite like to give birth to lemons, if you can’t have runner beans. You don’t get a choice what grows inside you, of course, but you can still hope.
Your other friend Lucille births a poppering mess of pomegranate seeds.Her husband left her so you’re there at the birth and you see the flood of wet red seeds and it seems it will go on forever. It doesn’t look sore but you still don’t want to give birth to pomegranate seeds. During the birth Lucille squeezes your hand so tight the bones scrape, and a month later when you visit her and the baby she’s still talking about the pain. To be honest you think it’s a bit overdramatic. The seeds must have hurt less coming out than they did going in. But now it’s your turn. And it’s not good news.
Look down: you see the size of your bump? How big it’s grown, that thing that’s even bigger than the biggest melon you’ve ever seen? That’s what you will birth. All in one go. Ripping, splitting, round and hard and ripe. It’s unusual, yes, but then aren’t you unusual? You always were, your mother would say, if she wasn’t dead, if she hadn’t died birthing the huge violent melon-shaped mass of you all those years ago.
Come on now, you can’t put it off any longer. It’s time to push. You may be unusual, but you are not special. The doctor has others after you. The needle and thread lie ready on the surgical tray.
From issue #5: autumn/winter 2017
About the Author
Kirsty Logan is a professional daydreamer. She is the author of two story collections, A Portable Shelter and The Rental Heart & Other Fairytales, and a novel, The Gracekeepers. She lives in Glasgow with her wife and their rescue dog. She has tattooed toes.
