Aftermath

She grips the top of her brimming womb, her little hand half the span of her now torpedo shaped baby bag.

The top soft and yielding in contrast with the vast firmness beneath, the pressure of her hefty water sack allowing no decrease in size only solid, tight instant redistribution somewhere else in response to the timid though increasingly forceful pushing of her fingertips palms.

Watch her investigate herself, oblivious of the world working around her low dome focusing on the solid portion of her left flank of her belly still covered by her opaque tights. Slipping a hand underneath, again and again, no significant give against her probing hands. The realisation reluctantly taking hold.

She jumps in fright and redirects her attention the the opposite side, resting a hand over the scene of activity. Rubbing little circles over the swell with her index and forefinger of her unringed hand.