Nadine’s Fat Baby

By Quinn Rennerfeldt

She thought she was better than us because she had had a fat baby. Everyone else’s babies had come out spindly and translucent, with skin like gelatin, or else tinged blue so the midwives had to put their mouths over their tiny noses and blow until the babies started to wriggle and cry. But Nadine’s baby had come out thick and soft, whimpering like a dove, and the midwives hung back like shadows as she brought him to her nipple. He immediately latched with gulping breaths. That’s when Nadine started to act as though she were built superior, even though she didn’t have the widest hips, hadn’t even shown that much before he was born, her stomach more of a suggestion than an assertion of pregnancy. But whatever made up her insides must have been something special, because she had the proof in her arms, red-haired little cherub she brought with her everywhere. The rest of us hesitated to produce our babies in public, even though at home we loved them so much our teeth hurt, and we cried every morning and night when alone on the toilet, worried about their phlegmy noses or their ribs that stuck out like fence slats. It made it worse to see them next to Nadine’s fat baby, so we kept them at home, cracking the windows at night when the heat dome broke so they could have a little fresh air, which we all sipped at as though it were cold milk that could coat our bones.

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About Author

Quinn Rennerfeldt is a queer poet, parent, and partner earning her MFA at SFSU. Their work can be found in Cleaver, SAND, elsewhere, Salamander, Fractured Lit, Flash Frog. Her chapbook demigoddess semilustrous will be published by dancing girl press in Fall 2023. They are a reader for Split Lit Magazine and Flash Fiction Magazine.

Author’s Socials:

website: www.quinnrennerfeldt.com

twitter: @quinnfairchild