"Of course it's not real." said the knowledgeable friend "There is a severe lack of evidence."
I glanced around. She was right but it had seemed real enough to wake me up in a cold sweat and stay with me for the rest of the day.
Being pregnant at my age would be enough to make me slit me wrists and hang myself from the top of the stairs for good measure.
Strangely, the pregnant part of the dream was nice. I was in my comfort zone. When I had the Feckers I loved being pregnant and in my sleeping gestation I had experienced the same kind of feelings - lots of tummy rubbing and feeling rather smug. What came next was a horror above all horrors.
"It just means that you are hatching something, giving birth to something and besides, look at all the new stuff you are doing already." said the knowledgeable, dream deciphering friend.
She was right. For the last two months everything has been in the 'new' category. Every day sprinkled with mostly bad 'new' but a little helping of good as well. I'm aware that certain dreams reflect our state of mind but what I didn't need was a very realistic nightmare in which the end product was chasing me around the house demanding to be fed every five minutes.
After checking under the bed once again I now believe that it really was just a dream. The Feckers have been saved from an embarrassing coroners report and I am free to continue life without all the nasty leaky bits.
Which now only leaves me with the intriguing question - who exactly was the phantom father?