Erin S. Jackson
/ˌso͞odōsīˈēsis/
The baby just kicked, but the doctor told the girl it was pseudocyesis.
One day she woke up and ran to the bathroom to vomit. Morning sickness. The girl knew the baby that she prayed for had arrived. The girl had to prepare. A sharp pain to her nipples followed. Tender breasts. She examines that her breasts have gotten bigger. Another sharp kick. Her baby is hungry. The girl eats for two. Cake, pickles, Pop-Tarts, brownies, cookies, pasta, burgers, French fries, burritos, ice cream, chips, beans, greens, potatoes, tomatoes, and a whole lemon all on one plate. The girl gains weight, and she hears the baby laugh. The baby is happy.
The girl must tell everyone she knows the good news. She tells her parents, teachers, ex, pets, but no one believes her. The girl needs proof of the gift she prayed for. She goes to get an ultrasound. She sees her beautiful baby growing fast on the screen, but the doctor sees nothing. She hears the steady heart thumps echoing in the room. The doctor hears nothing. The doctor calmly states there is no fetus, and the girl is offended.
The girl heads to the store because she must prepare. She rubs her belly and whispers, “Don’t listen to them. I know you’re real.” She is stuck before the boy section with blues, cars, and dinosaurs, compared to the girl section with pinks, princesses, and horses. “My baby, my baby,” she says, “are you a boy or girl?” Her stomach guides her to the girls’ section. A small tiara, a single white shoe, a poem torn out of a book, and a little golden Winnie the Pooh ripped off the chain of a necklace is what the girl left the store with. The baby is pleased that the girl took these items. However, the store clerk was confused. He calls the police.
The girl sits in a cell talking to her baby. The baby can respond now. “I love you, Mommy,” the baby said.
“I love you too.”
“Where are we? I’m cold.”
“Oh no! My baby is cold,” the girl screams.
She screams and screams at the top of her lungs. The girl’s mother comes to her rescue. The girl’s mother helps her into the car, carefully reaching across her daughter’s expanding belly to fasten the seatbelt. The girl groans as her mother get into the driver’s seat. “Mama,” the girl says through raspy breathing, “your grandbaby is coming.” The girl’s mother stares straight ahead, impatiently pressing on the gas. “Mama,” the girl says between groans, “your grandbaby.” Finally, the girl’s mother speaks to the baby.
“Grandma, where are we going,” whines the baby.
“Hang tight, darling, we’re almost there,” says the girl’s mother.
“I want to go home.”
“I know people that’ll take care of you.”
“Where are my toys?”
“We are almost there.”
The girl’s mother drives her to a big brick building with barred windows then leaves without a wave. The girl is guided inside by nurses.
The doctor tells the girl what pseudocyesis is. The girl believes the doctor’s words then begins to behave. The nurses and doctors question her. Finally, the girl expresses that they were right. She was never pregnant. Her expanding belly was nothing more than gas. The doctor says that she can go home.
The girl decorates a spare room in her apartment with colors of beige and gray, then sits in her rocking chair. The girl whispers, “You know I only pretended so we could leave.” The girl is twenty-two months pregnant like a mother elephant. The baby will arrive any day now.
About the Author
Erin S. Jackson is a black writer from Detroit, Michigan. She studied literature at Central State University and is currently pursuing her MFA at Columbia University, focusing on young adult literature. Through her writing, she wishes to help young adults cope with life’s worries.