by Laura Leigh Morris
after Eric Carle
In the light of the moon, a woman with a positive pregnancy test lay in bed, giddy. One Sunday morning, the woman sat up and—bam!—she was a very hungry pregnant woman. She went to the kitchen to eat a snack.
On Monday she ate one piece of apple pie. She was still hungry, but her husband said, “Do you think that’s good for the baby?” So she didn’t eat more.
On Tuesday she ate two cookies. She was still hungry, but her husband said, “Have you thought about gestational diabetes?” So she didn’t eat more.
On Wednesday she ate three chocolate mini-doughnuts. She was still hungry, but her husband asked if she’d weighed herself recently. So she didn’t eat more.
On Thursday she ate four Snickers bites. Her husband said nothing because she ate them alone in her car on the drive to work.
On Friday she ate five Dove chocolates. She was still hungry, but her husband stared daggers when she went for a sixth. So she didn’t eat more.
On Saturday her husband fed her one hard-boiled egg, one salad, one red apple, one plate of brussels sprouts, one spinach smoothie, one baked chicken breast, one piece of dry toast, one handful of almonds, one overripe banana, and one bowl of Greek yogurt. That night she craved something sweet, but he warned her she’d give herself a stomachache.
The next day was Sunday again. She ate the salad he gave her for breakfast before pushing the plate away, telling him to mind his own damned body. She said he could choose what to eat when he was pregnant. Then, she ate one chocolate chip cookie. After that she felt much better.
When her husband said, “I should have a say in my baby’s life,” she opened her mouth wide ate him too.
Now, she wasn’t a little pregnant woman anymore. She was a big, happy pregnant woman.
When people asked about her husband, she built a wall, called a protective barrier, around herself. She stayed inside for the rest of her pregnancy, ignoring the sidelong looks from her neighbors and the police investigation that ensued. When forty weeks had passed, she slammed through that brick wall and pushed out a big, beautiful baby, and she became his beautiful mom, and she still ate whatever she damn well pleased.
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Laura Leigh Morris is the author of The Stone Catchers: A Novel (2024), a finalist for the 2024 Willie Morris Award for Southern Fiction and the 2024 Weatherford Award, and Jaws of Life: Stories (2018). She’s previously published short fiction and essays in STORY Magazine, North American Review, The Florida Review, and other journals. She teaches creative writing and literature at Furman University in Greenville, SC. To learn more, visit www.lauraleighmorris.com.