they churn them out. large flop-bellied to be filled at least once a year.they churn them out. large flop-bellied to be filled at least once a year. they talk breast pads and husbands and ovary activity. i fight the urge to run and fill my mind with nick cave's lyrics and far away countries. one of them turns from the pack and looks at me, her eyes freeze under her smile. she says something to the rest and then makes her move in my direction. i sink in to the park bench, scour the playground for my child, long to be saved by someone who doesn't shop at the school jumble sale. i look up and she is over me, her belly is huge and her doc marten mary janes have baby sick on them. "we're having a get together for all the mothers in 6R, we haven't really made your aquaintance, but we thought you might like to join us?" the thought of sitting in the midst of them, maybe becoming one of them sends a shudder deep in to my being. it is rocking the foundations of who i am, i must look aghast because she then says "no children for the night, just wine & nibbles". nibbles. of course there will be 'nibbles'. the no kids thing appeases me slighly and i tell her i'll think about it.