What's inside me?

Have you seen the film Alien? Even if you haven't, I'm sure there's a scene in it which has wormed its way into your consciousness. I'm talking about the bit in which John Hurt (I think) enquires in a quite exasperated tone as to what's inside him. The answer is rapidly forthcoming when an alien bursts through his chest, in a manner which is at once horrifying and slightly funny.

My wife cannot now help but fear the same fate befalling her at any moment. Logic, biology and the scans we have had all serve to reassure us that she contains a nice human of our own making, rather than an evil alien which will grow up to bleed acid all over the intergalactic colonialist scientists of an unspeakably bleak future.

But the nice human is clearly attempting to make a similar exit from its host. From within my wife she pounds away like a cat in a bag with increasing frequency. That these movements seem more deliberate and calculated than in previous weeks adds to the sense that she is a very mature foetus: ready to come out and face the world any time now.

I spend much of my spare time watching my wife's tummy in bewilderment at this show of force. And my wife finds this form of entertainment increasingly painful, as in fact she now finds most things. Medication for a previously undiagnosed thyroid malfunction has ensured that she is in much better physical condition than when pregnant with our first daughter but, nevertheless, discomfort is now a constant companion. She has for the last week or so been coping with the disadvantage of a head between her legs. A full night's sleep is a long-lost friend of hers who has neglected to visit for some time.

All of which considerable inconvenience has led to a ridiculous sense of relief that, soon, my wife will repeat the single most painful experience of her life. She will undergo physical trauma which is literally inconceivable to me, even as I watch it first hand. And, preposterously, I'm quite looking forward to it - not because I'll then get a few weeks off work - but because this will represent the climax of eight or nine months of escalating discomfort. Once this has happened, my wife can begin to heal, sleep and become human again. Then all we have to do is raise two children. So maybe the sleep bit will have to wait.

John Hurt didn't know how lucky he was.