I look down at my finger. Its swollen like a bug bite, but something seems different about it. I can feel something moving inside, and when I hold it up to the light I can make it out-- a wasp. This is not concerning to me but elating. I tell my partner. A life is growing inside me and I happily use the word “pregnant” to describe it to my friends.

The child crawls out of my finger. I put a bandaid over the exit wound. It circles around me in the air and I feed it sugar water as if its a hummingbird or something. It follows me everywhere. When I go to a barbecue it stays in a bush nearby to avoid the smoke. I would give anything to ensure this being lives a full life, and somehow within me I know that it is happy.

We all know a wasp lives a shorter life than a human, so no one is surprised when it happens. My partner and I hang a photo in the living room, crisp and macro. But there's another lump on my finger. Did it come from the same wasp, or a different one? It doesn’t matter. My family is still growing. Eventually more photos line the walls. When I wake up I miss them so much I start crying.

Home