Aliens have taken over my body.

I have heard stories about extraterrestrial abductions and visits, but I was always skeptical -- until it happened to me a few months ago.

I have proof, in the form of several black-and-white images of two big-headed, big-bellied, skinny-legged beings swimming inside me.

They have made it quite clear they will not be leaving the premises anytime soon. They aren't even shy about dancing for the camera. Unlike other aliens that appear as fleeting beams of light, these kids are here to stay.

Their list of demands is hard to meet. They want food and drink constantly, but only certain types of foods at certain times of the day.

In the morning, it's all about scrambled eggs -- nothing runny -- and water. If I try to give them milk, they send it back in a very unpleasant way. During the day, they are willing to consider more varieties of foods. They are definitely carnivores, but nothing too greasy.

Just when I think I've stuffed their oversized bellies, a few hours after lunch they start pushing on my stomach requesting more, more, more. By dinnertime I'm so sick of eating that I just want to lie down and pretend not to hear them growling.

It doesn't end there. Every night between midnight and 3 a.m., one of them wakes me up with instructions to get out of bed, trudge downstairs and make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich immediately. There is never time to question or hesitate; they want it all now!

If only I could speak their language, I would assure them that 3 a.m. on a work day is no time to eat sandwiches. "Just hold out until breakfast," I mumble and whine quietly so as not to wake up the dogs and husband, who try to ignore the fact that two beings have taken up residence in my otherwise healthy body.

"Why are you so tired?" Jack asks me just about once a day. "Didn't you just eat? Maybe you should go for a run or get some exercise."

As I slice him up with evil eyes, he reminds me that this is what I wanted. That's right, I wanted a belly that looks like it is about to burst if my two freeloaders grow even a centimeter more. I wanted to feel sick all day long and start hating foods that I have always loved. I was desperate to feel so tired that the thought of taking a walk seemed like too much.

I realize, though, that my aliens -- Hash and Molly Brown, I call them -- are advanced enough to tap into my brain and affect my thinking and emotions. If I'm not crying watching a commercial about puppies, I am telling myself that aliens aren't so bad.

"Someone has to be the one to bring them to Earth," I hear myself considering.

Hash and Molly are also working away at my memory. They know that if they kick hard enough, my brain will be jostled ever so slightly that come June, when they meet earthlings for the first time, I will have no memory of all the demands they placed on me.

That's how alien hijackers get away with it all. They may make the mothership miserable, but she never quite remembers how bad it was.

I'm sure someone will ask after that, "Isn't it great not to be sick anymore?" as I stare lovingly at the Hash and Molly, who will no longer look so alien.

"Sick? What are you talking about?" I will hear myself say. "Aren't they beautiful?"

Some women say that harvesting aliens is the most amazing time of their lives. "I never felt so beautiful and healthy," they say, as if they are auditioning for a commercial for the rhythm method.

If I didn't feel so sick and unlike myself, I might agree that this insurrection is the best thing I've ever experienced. I may not notice that my complexion is great, but my hair is hideous, my belly is huge and my behind matches.

For now, I'll just continue to do everything I can stomach to help them grow and develop. By June, I'll never complain about being overtaken again, unless of course my brain is so jumbled that I find myself pregnant again.

Isn't one double alien harvest enough?

Laura Lewis Brown is an adventurous newlywed who has loved, lost and doesn't mind sharing. Her column appears every other Thursday.