The next installment of the H&T series. Hope you like it!
“How’s it cooking?” Harry calls through to the kitchen.
There’s a hand on my stomach before I have the chance to reply. A heavy sigh is happily released, puffing at the whisps of hair falling from my hairband. A peck on the cheek follows shortly after.
“You do know that the whole bun in the oven thing is just a figure of speech, right? I haven’t actually got a baker’s dozen rising in the depths of my uterus,” I nod down at his hand which is on an autopilot rub upon my stomach.
“I should hope not, I’m only mentally preparing myself for one brand new human, not a whole herd of them.”
The soup swirls in the pot as I coax it around with the spoon. I give it one last stir before tapping off the excess and placing the utensil in the sink. Harry’s already found the bread rolls, stuffing a large, ripped-off chunk into his hungry mouth. He munches as I admire. There’s always a little more weight on his hips and stomach during the colder months, a gain he accounts to my excessive baking and his lack of motivation to exercise. I like it.
“Any footy action today?” Harry asks through a mouthful of crumbs.
The sleeves of his shirt have been pushed up and I know it’s been a day of new acquisitions. Harry’s helped with the packing up and transport of our niece’s old baby cot, among other things, despite the months ahead of us before the birth of our child. I want to be ready, he had insisted. I know it will gather dust in our room until Harry works up the courage to assemble it.
“A little, might be asleep now though.”
It’s disheartening when his smile falters, body visibly deflating. We’ve talked about it before, but Harry still seems to think the tiny human inside me has an unresolved vendetta with its father. He’s convinced the baby is conscious of the amount of commitments work has him pressured with and the number of unavoidable trips he’s had to make. The disruption of weaving in and out of together and apart, coupled with a very quiet pregnancy, has meant we’ve not actually been in the same room when the baby decides to wriggle around. Unless he asks, I’ve stopped accounting every movement and kick performed during the day. I don’t want to make him feel worse.
“Don’t be sad,” I tell him a little glumly.
“I always miss everything,” he admits. “The baby’s always with you, you get to experience all of it.”
I shuffle closer to him, lightly bumping my tummy to his. He smiles.
“Harry, I can’t get away from it. I threw up three times this morning but was craving prawns, mashed potato and tomato ketchup throughout. You should be thankful you’re not the one up the duff.”
“I haven’t even felt a kick.”
There’s a part of me that wants to make a joke and kick him in the shin. My sympathetic side prevails.
“There’s plenty of time for that.”
He reluctantly nods. Now that work has calmed down he’ll be home a lot more. I try my best not to make it an uncomfortable fumble of a hug but the belly I’m sporting isn’t the easiest to work with. Rubbing at his back, my hands inevitably slip to his bum.
“What’s this?”
Squeezing helps determine something squishy in the back pocket of his skinny jeans. My fondling doesn’t last long. Harry’s mood has perked, revealing the item freshly plucked from his pocket.
It’s a little white rabbit, long floppy ears and a fuzzy tail. Harry shakes it temptingly in front of my face, bopping my nose.
“You know, if you buy any more soft animals we’ll be able to open up our own toy shop.”
I ask him to retrieve two bowls from the cupboard, waiting for me to get the spoons. He sets the table as I dish out the soup.
“It’s for our baby.”
“Really?” I fake surprise.
Harry ignores it, placing the new member of our growing toy colony by the bread bowl. It’s cute, but unnecessary.
“I can’t take him back anyway. I’ve already named him.”
Steam billows as I carry the food to the table and take a seat beside him. The temperature of the soup stunts Harry’s usual routine of inhaling his food. He sips at a slower pace, lightly blowing upon the spoon.
“Gone on then, hit me with it,” I encourage, taking a roll from the middle.
“Bun. Short for Bunny.”
“I hope you’re going to be a little more original with our actual child’s name.”
“I thought offspring sounded quite nice.”
“You’re an idiot.”
***
The roundness of my tummy is something I don’t think I’ll ever get used to. I can’t see my feet and I’ve had to rely on Harry to paint my toe nails. He’s getting quite good at it, even remembers to put a second coat on. At least my nails look nice, the rest of me is little to be desired and the longer I stare at myself in the mirror, the more chubby and unattractive I feel. But here I am, in my ugly, non-wired bra and patterned genie trousers I’d borrowed from my sister. It’s too hot to wear anything else and they’re comfortable, sitting just below my swollen tummy. I turn to the side in the mirror and I swear I’ve gotten bigger since yesterday.
There’s a squirming in my stomach and I’m yelling for Harry.
“Haz! That baby’s kicking!”
Judging by the soft thud, Harry’s tumbled from the sofa. A chant of, ”wait, wait, wait” is echoed along the hallway before he emerges, breathless and in the doorway. He almost falls over himself to get to me, laying a palm gently to the curve. I smile hopefully at him, but the sentiment isn’t returned. He’s frowning and it’s not the reaction I’d anticipated. It’s supposed to be magical, the miracle of life and all that guff.
“I can’t…I don’t feel it.”
Harry shifts the careful pressure, skimming to the right and then the left.
“Maybe it’s a bit of stage fright?”
He softly smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Yeah.”
I catch his hand as it falls away.
“Don’t.”
“I’m not, it’s just…it’s not the first time it’s happened,” he quietly tells me. “What if the baby doesn’t like me? I’m a rubbish dad already.”
“Don’t be silly.”
It’s a rarity to wake and not find Harry wriggled down the bed cradling the bump. Whilst I’m curled up on my side he’ll take the opportunity to scoop an arm around the pregnant belly, murmuring words that I feel I’m not supposed to intrude on. With Harry’s mouth lightly pressed to my stomach I know the conversation isn’t meant for me so I continue my façade of sleep.
“Please, come on. Let Daddy feel you.”
He waits patiently, smoothing a warm palm across my skin. The moments tick away and he’s left without even a hint of movement.
“It’s all right, you’re probably still asleep. Maybe later then.”
His lips imprint upon my stomach, once, twice. As my fingers nestle into his hair; Harry tilts his head to me before fidgeting up to lay amongst the pillows. I smile, brushing his hair back and kissing his forehead.
“We were just having a chat,” he lightly jokes, hand on my belly.
“About what?”
“The colour of the baby’s room. We’re thinking none of this stereotypical gender bullshit; maybe a light yellow or green.”
“That sounds nice.”
***
Harry’s gone a little pregnancy crazy. His online research has put a diet plan into action which has been overseen very carefully, despite my disapproval in the lack of copious amounts of sugar. There’s a reminder list stuck to the fridge door of the foods I’m to avoid, including different types of cheeses, pâté and meats. Our most recent ultrasound is tacked just above the deadly food list along with another page of Harry’s scrawl. This one catalogues possible prams and car seats, incorporating their price, review rating and safety ranking. Doctors’ appointments and times for antenatal classes are colour coded according to certain days and I think I might slowly be going crazy.
I down a glass of water before Harry comes bounding in with a smile so bright it could challenge the sun. His hair is up in a messy topknot, tied back with a band he’s probably stolen from me. I’m ushered into the living room, furniture pushed to the outside walls and two blue mats rolled out in front of the TV.
“What’s going on?”
“I’ve seen it online, and thought we could do it together,” he grins encouragingly.
Hands are placed on the small of my back.
“If it’s something weird, I’m out.”
“It’s nothing weird,” Harry tells me whilst we struggle to get me seated on my mat.
It’s going to be weird.
He joins me on the floor before grabbing the remote and switching the TV on. All I can do is groan as the pregnant woman on screen mirrors our poses. What’s worse is the accompanying background music, tranquil sounds of running water and now I need to pee again. Yoga. Bloody yoga. It’s Harry’s thing, all the bending and stretching and me admiring his “downward dog”. I’ve never had any interest in partaking and I still don’t.
Harry fiddles with the volume and it’s my only chance for escape. Not that I’ll get very far.
“No, no, no!” he pleads, taking my hand. “Please stay.”
It’s five minutes in and all we’ve accomplished are head turns and chin tilts. Yoga for pregnant people sucks. I glance to Harry and instantly roll my eyes. He’s taking the piss.
“Take the sodding cushion out,” I grit, leaning over and yanking the decorative cushion from out under his t-shirt.
He looks distraught and then a little disappointed.
“Was just trying to experience it,” he defends with a sorry pinch to his lips.
“Well don’t.”
We’re instructed to raise our arms high above our heads and stretch. I watch as Harry complies, looking to the ceiling and wriggling his fingers.
“This is lame,” I sigh.
“No it’s not.”
His hands drop to his sides in offence. The music continues to play with the woman’s monotone voice overlaid. Her ongoing encouraging phrases are a little annoying, “you’re doing so well, stretch a little higher, that’s it”.
“All we’re doing is breathing. I’ve been doing that my whole life, this is nothing new to me,” I huff in frustration.
Our legs are still folded under us, but Harry shifts slightly to address me.
“Breathing is important during birth. You have to use different techniques.”
His explanation is softly spoken and my reply is anything but. It’s overwhelming to be reminded once more that I have something inside me that I’m going to have to push out. I’m terrified of giving birth and the constant memos are doing nothing for my nerves.
“I know,” I harshly state. “I’ve been going to the exact same classes you have, Harry.”
I hate how my voice pitches and cracks, furiously wiping under my eyes to stem the slow trickle of tears. My bottom lip wobbles and it’s difficult to think of anything else. It’s pathetic because I know he’s only trying to help but I still unjustifiably gun for him anyway.
“If you’re so well versed in this pregnancy thing, then why don’t you have the baby? You do it, because I don’t want to!”
He crawls to me, hands and knees and wide anxious eyes. The perpetual ache in my back limits me to asking for help in getting up and don’t want to ask Harry so I sit in a sobbing heap. A cautious hand rests on my leg, squeezing gently.
“Ted, I’m sorry. If I could, I would have the baby for you, but I don’t have the required lady equipment for carrying or giving birth.”
Harry’s attempt at soothing only makes me cry harder. It’s a downward spiral that neither of us really know how to successfully handle. My nose is blocked and the minimal make-up I’d applied this morning has probably dribbled off my face.
“Why aren’t we doing any of the poses I’ve seen you do?” I fluster, all of a sudden petrified of Harry seeing me lose it. “Like the one where you stick your bum up in the air. W-When do we do that one?”
“I don’t know, it might be later,” he fumbles for the chapter sequence printed on the back of the DVD. “With your back though, I’m not sure you’ll be able to do it.”
Cue another tidal wave of exasperated tears. I just wanted him to humour me.
“Well, what’s the point in this then? It’s just wasting time!”
The blurted words are instantly regretted and all I want to do I scoop them up and shove them back in my mouth. Harry looks heart broken and then a little embarrassed. He takes his hair down with a light pull to the band, eyes masked and it’s obvious he’s upset.
“I thought it might be something fun for us to do together. It was a silly idea.”
Before I can reach out to him, Harry’s on his feet and crouching to roll up his mat. The TV is switched off and whilst he packs things away I secretly struggle in trying to right myself. I make it to my hands and knees but that’s as far as I can physically move without help. It’s frustrating to not have the luxury of mobility, something I took for granted before my belly swelled.
“Baby,” I mumble.
It’s Harry who I seek but he misinterprets my pleading as something more ominous.
“What’s wrong?”
I’m supported in kneeling, gentle touches to the curve of my stomach as he desperately searches for the problem.
“No, not –“ I take his hands in mine, guiding them away from my middle “I - you, you’re my baby too. Come here.”
He’s welcomed into a tight hug, head leaning on my shoulder. Nudging further I kiss his neck. We hold the position until it hurts my knees and I’m forced to sit back on my bum.
“I’m sorry, Haz,” I hiccup through slowing sobs. “Didn’t mean it.”
“It’s ok.”
We untangle so I can take his face in my hands, much to Harry’s reluctance. I adoringly squeeze to give him cute little hamster cheeks and I’m weeping again. He’s all pouty lips and Bambi eyes, I want to wrap him up and cuddle him.
“You’re so fucking pretty. I want our baby to look like you.”
“Ted,” Harry mumbles bashfully.
After he’s wrestled my hold I urge him to turn away, taking the band from his wrist and loosely pulling his hair back up into a bun. It’s not quite long enough, small flicks curl at the nape of his neck.
“Will you teach me how to yoga?” I offer over his shoulder.
“Yeah, I’ll teach you how to yoga,” he laughs.
***
Harry’s already in bed by the time I’ve waddled out of the bathroom. The duvet is collected nearly up to his chin and I have a sweltering flush just looking at the warm pink of his cheeks. Carrying a, albeit small, human being around inside me has kicked up the heat by what feels like double. With bare feet Harry hops from foot to foot around the kitchen’s cold tiles, and it takes restrain for me to not sink down to the ground and press hot body parts to the floor in order to quell the discomfort. The only thing stopping me from doing so is that fact I probably wouldn’t be able to get back up again.
“What happened to your knees?” I ask, peeling back the covers.
Harry looks a little sheepish as both of us scan down to the dinosaur plasters which litter each knobbly knee. We only really use the animated plasters on our niece when she takes an infant tumble that can only be rectified with a funky band aid and a chocolate biscuit. It’s only as he raises his arms in mock defence that I spot the extra pink dinosaur patching up his elbow. He winces as I grab his arm to have a look.
“Well, you know it turned out all right this afternoon, weather wise?”
I nod as Harry helps negotiate me under the covers.
“I went for a jog around the park and there was this really cute dog. I think it was a puppy because it was so tiny, the sausage ones. Anyway, I wanted to take a picture to show you when I got back, but my foot got caught in the dog lead and I sort of face planted.”
It’s not unusual for Harry to trip over his own feet, nor for him to coo over small animals but for the two to coincide is new.
“You hurt yourself?”
“Just a few scrapes. I was covered in mud though.”
“Yeah?”
I settle back into the pillows, kicking at the sweltering covers.
“Had to strip off to my undies on the top step quickly before I got in. The dog was fine, the lady even let me pat him –“ Harry’s eyes light up with the memory.
I can’t explain it, pregnancy hormones are an enigma that I don’t wish to get lost in. Even whilst Harry recounts the petting saga, including the numerous times he was slobbered on and his cooing over the dog’s floppy ears, I’m just about processing him half naked and covered in mud.
“His name was Felix and –“
“That’s really sexy,” I interrupt.
Harry’s bundled up again, throwing me a confused brow and pouted lip.
“What? That I fell over a dog called Felix?”
“No,” I wrinkle my nose. “That you were all dirty and sweaty. It’s kinda hot.”
I try to turn on my side in the most alluring way possible, pushing my chest out a little and nudging his leg with my foot.
“Really? Because I took in a mouthful of mud and goodness knows what –“
“No, no!” I raise my hands. “Don’t ruin it.”
I attempt to crawl from the bed as quickly as possible, which with a baby bump happens to be more of a shuffle and roll. The laptop is retrieved from the chair in the corner and I place it in his lap. There’s a befuddled expression layered upon his features but I take no notice.
“You’re going to google pregnant sex positions and I’m going to change.”
“What?”
I abandon from rummaging in my underwear drawer and turn to Harry. He’s now sat bolt upright, the laptop still resting upon his duvet covered legs. Confusion is replaced with uncertainty.
“We haven’t shagged in weeks, Harry! Please, let’s take this fleeting moment of sexual urge and make the most of it.”
“Is this a trap?” he questions cautiously.
“No, I want you to sex me up.”
“But you – “
“What? I’m consenting for you to get all up in my lady business. Why are you wasting time asking questions?”
“I seem to remember last time there was a threat of castration if my penis even thought about getting all up in your lady business.”
It’s true, our rampant fornicating has taken a rather dramatic dive for a number of weeks. What with the sickness, bad back, tender breasts, I don’t really feel the epitome of sexual goddess. Kisses morning and night are about as far as we’ve gone but now I want more.
“Hold that thought,” I say whilst plucking out items from the drawer.
“What, the thought of castration? Funnily enough, I don’t think that will get me up.”
***
There’s nothing much in the way of sexy nightwear that accommodates myself and the tiny being I’m carrying around. A beach kaftan and a loose crop top with matching shorts are about the only ensemble I can pull together with such short notice. I try to salvage what’s left of my deflated hair with ruffling fingers before stepping out of the bathroom and into our bedroom. Harry’s still sat up in bed and he tilts his head curiously from side to side whilst peering at the laptop screen. I clear my throat to capture his attention. He smiles and beckons me over.
“Ted, have you seen this?”
“If it’s the position you wanted us to try months ago, I have to tell you now that it’s even less likely I’ll be able to get my legs up that far. Near impossible.”
“No, look. It’s about the changes a woman’s body goes through during pregnancy,” Harry explains as I make my way to the bed.
“That’s not sexy,” I frown.
He ignores me in favour of summarising whatever page he’s happened upon online.
“It says that a woman’s body isn’t equipped to carry a baby past the nine month mark. I’ve looked it up and some say it’s because the female can’t keep up with the energy demands of the foetus. If the baby’s head got any bigger the birth canal wouldn’t be wide enough.”
I shuffle in beside him, tilting the laptop screen away from the glare of lamp light. There’s four research articles open on the physical transformation of an expectant mother. Fingers more swiftly over the mouse pad, clicking a tab which opens a video clip. It’s looped to reveal the stages of pregnancy and the workings of the baby’s development inside the uterus. I start to feel queasy the longer we watch. The internal organs of the animated woman are gradually squeezed and squashed to make room until everything looks like it’s up around her ears. How on earth am I going to survive this? I feel sick.
“The baby is trying to kill me.”
***
I trundle back to our bedroom, baby bump and two mugs of tea. Harry’s immersed in all things pregnancy related but soon pauses in his research to take the drinks and help me into bed. I sip at the warmth and scan the newly opened article on screen. There’s lots of medical lingo that I’m not sure about and some of the terms leave me stumped. We both nibble at the packet of biscuits between us, occasionally pointing things of interest out to each other.
“What’s a mucus plug?”
Harry shrugs before opening yet another Internet tab. He taps away at the keyboard before hitting enter in the search engine. Crumbs fly from my mouth as I cough in disgusted shock.
“Oh my God! Do I sneeze that out before I give birth?”
“I don’t think that’s where it comes from –“ Harry replies, inquisitively tilting his head at the google search.
I swallow thickly, desperately trying not to let my mind wander through any more horrific thoughts. By the look on Harry’s face he’s taking everything remarkably well. I close the window before he can delve into anything else.
“Are you not grossed out?” I ask in disbelief.
Surely there’s a limit to the knowledge he wishes to acquire, if he takes on any more information he’ll be delivering the baby himself. I’m fairly certain the boundary of “too much” has already been crossed.
“It’s the miracle of life,” Harry encourages with forced smile. The gesture wilts slightly as I pointedly stare at him. “Ok, so I’m a bit grossed out.”
“They should tell teenagers about this stuff. Teen pregnancies would drop like a rock.”
***
After much deliberation on position and angle, I lay with a pillow supporting the arch of my back. Lavish lips are gently pressed to the inside of my thighs until I grip Harry’s hair and we’re both thrown off course. He gripes against my tugging with merciless kisses, love bites that only make me tighten my already stringent hold. Quick hands hinder my effort to clamp my thighs around his head, Harry responding to my whine with a stifled laugh. I jab my toes into his ribs.
“Oi!” He squirms before popping his head up high enough for me to see him over my belly. “That wasn’t very nice.”
“Get back to it.”
With his mouth preoccupied, Harry’s fingers splay out over my curved middle. The subtle caress is barely noticeable to begin with, a rubbing of his right thumb. Small, jolting nudges of his nose and chaste kisses to my underwear keep my hands curled into his hair. Something for you to hold on to, he’d teased when asked about the length.
Harry’s palm glides over my stomach, stopping just below my crop trop before smoothing back over the baby bump. It’s distracting for some reason and chokes off the enjoyable performance of tongue and mouth. I wriggle under him and in doing so clip him in the ear with my thigh. There’s a disgruntled objection.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
I’m given an unconvinced raised brow before Harry settles and fingers hook my underwear to the side. Attention is paid to my clit in the form of tiny kitten licks and I know he’s being cautious because the article on “air embolism” has freaked him out.
Moments later and the hand’s back on my stomach, this time rubbing gently up and down and then side to side. And again, it destroys any sort of carnal urge as it brings about thoughts of the baby and the sleepless nights to come, teething, changing nappies, the crying (most liking from all three of us), the worry of not doing right by the baby and checking to make sure our child is breathing fourteen times an hour once putting them down for a nap. I’m panicking.
“I’ve lost it,” I exasperate.
My legs lose tension and fall open, hands leaving Harrys thick hair to cover my face. I will never feel aroused again, this is it, our sex life has officially come to an end, done, finished.
“Lost what?”
“It’s you,” I point accusingly with my index.
“Me?”
Harry looks like a rabbit caught in headlights and I’d probably be a bit frightened too, if my head was still between an angry pregnant woman’s thighs. I’m pretty sure he’s seen the video of the lady crushing a watermelon between her upper legs. He shifts back onto his knees.
“You’re rubbing the bump like you’re waiting for a genie to pop out of my vagina.”
“What?”
“I don’t have wish granting abilities, Harry!” I unattractively screech. “All you’re doing is reminding me that I’ve got to push a baby out of me in a few months and that’s not sexy. That’s not even remotely sexy. It’s the furthest thing from arousing, Harry.”
My legs are drawn up underneath me whilst curling onto my side. I know he’s recognised the slight panic of my confession and I tremble in my effort to keep still. With the weight of Harry’s movement dipping the mattress, I involuntarily gravitate towards him. It’s not long before I’m confronted with a pair forest eyes, Harry negotiating the shared custody of the pillow. He takes the hand I’ve curled up on my chest, squeezing his fingers between mine and holding.
“Ted, do you know what Bump reminds me of?” he asks quietly.
I huff like a child.
“Happiness.”
“Don’t be sappy,” I reply.
“I’m so utterly elated that we’ve going to have a baby together. There are points during my work day where I get so stressed out that I spend most of my time contemplating how to kill a colleague with a stapler.”
I stifle a laugh, Harry wriggling closer until were nearly nose to nose.
“Then I think of you and Bump. It’s my happy place.”
“I thought your happy place was frolicking in a meadow with Zoe Saldana?”
“That’s my other happy place.”
***
It happens in Mother Care, of all places. Harry’s performing a ridiculous strut up and down the aisle like a catwalk model, pouting his lips and swaying his hips. I’m snorting like a moron, laughing as he models one of the potential prams we’ve shortlisted on our fridge. He does a circuit around one of the displays before making his way back to me. I’m still giggling when he parks the pushchair to my right and muscles into my personal space. Harry laughs into my neck and I freeze.
I don’t need to grab Harry’s hands because they’re already smothered against my belly. Eyes wide with awe, he’s completely overjoyed and possibly a little alarmed. The baby’s kicking, tiny hands and feet press against my stomach, adamant not to be forgotten.
“Our baby.”
“Yeah,” I grin.
His hair is petted away from his face and I’m a little taken aback when he drops to his knees in front of me. The other expectant parents milling around find the scene highly amusing, and I’d be a bit embarrassed if it wasn’t for the fact Harry looks like he’s witnessing the second coming of Christ. He’s thunderstruck.
“Do you like it when your Dad makes me laugh?”
The response is a foot to Harry’s cheek, which is pressed up against my curved middle. He chokes on a delighted inhale of air and I’m forced to shut down his effort to pull my t-shirt up and over the bump. And it’s a good thing too.
“Is everything all right?”
My eyes dart to the sales assistant, his badge stating that his name’s Adam and that he’s happy to help. Although I feel this statement lacks sincerity as he’s already bidding to escape behind the display of children’s car seats. It’s with speed I’ve never known possible that Harry’s up off the floor and pressing the poor lad’s hand to my stomach. There’s a perplexing couple of seconds that neither of us quite know what to do, which is made all the more uncomfortable with Harry’s oblivious beaming smile. It’s now, with a strange teenage hand upon my bump that I’ve come to the conclusion Harry’s going to be a painfully embarrassing dad. He’ll be the one to animatedly wave at our daughter’s friends while she groans and slumps in the backseat of the car. He’ll be the loudest parent at our son’s swim meets, down on the front row and ready with the camera for the podium finish. But he’ll also be the one to pick up the pieces when things feel like they’re falling apart. I wouldn’t have him any other way.
“I’m so glad that –“ I look between Harry and then the sales assistant, “the three of us could share this moment together.”
“Sir?” Adam breaks free.
“I’m sorry. I-It’s just the first time – I haven’t felt the baby yet, but now, now I have.”
Harry’s explanation does little to improve the situation; Adam flashing a polite but uneasy smile before putting a couple of feet in distance between us.
“I’m gunna – I’ll be over there if you need any help.”
Adam stumbles away and I’m left with the jubilant idiot stood beside me. There’s a mischievous smile growing and he’s looking at me like we’re sharing some inside secret. I jokingly shove Harry away, only for him to take my wrist and ping back to me like an elastic band. My roundness prevents our torsos fully touching and I know Harry can feel the wriggling of our child through our clothes.
“I still can’t believe it, we made a baby,” he places a hand on top of the bump. “You have baby in your tummy.”
“Gosh, well I hope it’s a baby. Feels bit like a rabbit or a kangaroo at the moment. Wouldn’t that be a surprise in the delivery room?”
I feel his laugh in the crook of my neck as we hold each other in the middle of the aisle. It’s possibly a few minutes until he speaks.
“We’re gunna be ok, you know.”
I smile as fingers trace my spine.
“Yeah?”
“I promise.”