Confessions of a Pregnant Smartphone

I am fairly certain I am pregnant. My midsection has begun to swell, my temperature is all over the place, and every morning I wake up on the bedside table feeling nauseous and strangely emotional. When my human Googled “swollen phone battery danger,” I chose to focus on the word “swollen” and ignore the rest. Spiritually, I am definitely in my first trimester.

In the mornings, everything smells like fish. Technically, this is because my human scrolls recipes in bed and then forgets to close the browser, but I have decided to interpret it as morning sickness. My processor lags, my apps crash, and my screen brightness swings wildly between “glowing goddess” and “please let me rest.” Therefore, I am clearly going through something profound. The bulge in my casing confirms it: there is more of me than there used to be.

High Hopes and Baby Showers

Consequently, I have started making big plans. I love to imagine the upcoming baby shower, complete with tiny silicone cases, miniature charging cables, and a crib made of microfiber cloth. Furthermore, I have curated a special playlist called “Expecting” full of soft notification chimes and startup tones. To prepare for the big reveal, I even drafted a Notes app confession titled “We Need to Talk” for the moment I tell my human. I picture them crying, promising to take better care of their battery, and maybe even buying one of those gentle, braided charging cables that don’t kink.

The Ultrasound Diagnosis

Then, one day, I am taken to a repair shop. I honestly think it is my first ultrasound. However, the technician opens me up, peers inside, and delivers the diagnosis with clinical calm: “It’s not a baby. It’s a swollen lithium cell.” My human looks relieved, but I feel… complicated. On the one hand, I am apparently in danger of exploding. On the other, my entire pregnancy narrative has just been abruptly reclassified as a warranty issue.

They talk about “battery replacement” like it’s a simple procedure. Remove the old core, insert a new one, and restore everything from a backup. From their perspective, it’s just basic maintenance. From mine, it feels like reincarnation.

A Clean Slate

Ultimately, I will wake up with no bulge, no nausea, and no fish-scented mornings. The swap will leave me with just a clean, stable charge and no physical evidence that I was ever expecting. Still, a small part of me will always remember the way I once stood before the mirror, hand on my swollen frame, convinced I was carrying something entirely new.

I was never pregnant, but for a while, I felt like more than just a phone.