Babygirl Harry Laughing - Luton v. Man Utd.
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HARRY IS A GIRL UNCLE đ„čđ„čđ„čđ„čđ„čđ„čđ„čđ„čđ„č congratulations to Gemma I could CRY
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Harry & Taylor together makes me feel so đ„Čđâ€ïžâđ„âĄïžâšđ„čđ«¶đŒđđâšđ«¶đŒđđ
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What is this I hear?????? Little man mumblings in the gossip sphere of⊠HS4⊠coming late spring
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Are we still getting angel babyâs birth piece (no rush or pressure at all just curious ! âșïž)
Yes! Itâs done I just have to proof read bub! Hoping to have it out some time this week as soon as I have time to sit down and read it through
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To balance out the angel baby fluff Iâm currently floating the idea of making other mama its own AUâŠâŠâŠâŠâŠâŠâŠ
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The way weâre all baby angel stans
Girlie has a cult following!! I will never NOT talk about angel baby
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YESSS
IMA TRY FOR YALL
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Omg the birth piece tonight ?!! âșïžâșïž
UHHHH IF Y'ALL WOULD LIKE
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harry correcting them and specifying sheâs a âMrsâ is so hot. like yea sheâs married to you !!!
Ooooofffffff you know he loves letting it roll off the tongue too
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Ok birth piece tonight???
Needle
Summary: in which Harry brings you flowers to minimize the pain of a needle, and you've decided to throw out your baby books.
Word Count: 2.6k
Author's note: taking it to the very beginning and gifting all of us (myself included) the series of events that brought us to our reigning queen: Angel Baby.
It's her world, we're just living in it: she lives here
Itâs resting menacingly between his fingers, staring you down as though itâs got a mind of itâs own. Thereâs a very familiar sensation thatâs starting to conjure itself up in the pit of your stomach; fear and the anticipation of unavoidable pain. Honestly, the longer you fixate on the bulk of the needle the more the feeling that started in your gut starts to expand towards your chest.Â
âJust do it,â you blurt out, âget it over with.â
Youâre not intentionally trying to squirm. Fight or flight is just loitering deep within your instinctual reflexes, which is making it kind of hard not to writhe around a bit. You donât know if itâs the gush of cool air that falls in through the cracked window or the way Harry moves closer to your exposed abdomen but you canât help but jolt a bit.Â
âJust hold still poppet, promise mâgonna make it quick.âÂ
Heâs eye level with your lower back now, crouched down with his knees hovering brazenly above his feet. Before he advances any closer he peeks up at you. Itâs almost as if heâs silently asking for permission to get on with it. You just nod before sealing your eyes shut, like you typically do.Â
Thereâs an entire routine for this thatâs he nailed down to a T. In an attempt to soothe a bit of your nerves, he always lays his hand flat to the base of your stomach. Thatâs where he lets his thumb rub a few circles as a way to ease the nerves a bit; not just yours, but his too. His newest addition is delivering a small kiss to the spot he pokes you with the needle. Thereâs no rhyme or reason to it, but he feels like an extra step for good luck couldnât hurt at this point. He doesnât mind that this particular shot goes into your butt. Heâs big on good luck rituals, so heâs not about to fuck with the juju on this one.
One bit he refuses to change is to dig up something distracting to draw your attention elsewhere. It doesnât always work. In fact, you donât think itâs ever worked at all. Youâd never outwardly admit that itâs a useless ploy; you know heâs just trying to take some of the edge off. Each time itâs something different and he always tries to pick something ridiculous or outlandishly stupid.Â
âYâknow,â he grins as he takes the fleshy part of your belly in between his thumb and index finger âI literally just kissed your ass.â
A proud smirk plants itself on his mouth when he hears an exhale-like laugh slip out of you. It fades into a frown though as he jabs at you with the needle, because you suck it back in with a sharp breath. One of your hands is gripping onto the basin of the sink, and the other is digging itâs fingers into the flimsy material of his shoulder in an attempt to offset the impending burning sensation. He can almost feel your fingernails creating small crescents into the surface of his skin.Â
Itâs a relief once he can finally pull the needle out. He hates seeing you in pain. Even though this was an endeavor you both willingly agreed to embark on, he hates being the one to put you in pain. Thatâs why he breathes out in comforting release when he can put the empty needle onto the kitchen counter.Â
âSâall finished now,â his tone is so calm because he knows the stifling burning sensation is well underway, âno more shots.â
His eyes are trained on you as you wiggle your jeans back up your legs, wincing a bit when the denim veers over the injection spot. And you fiddle with the zipper before looping the button back in, smoothing out your shirt over the waistband as a way to push the last 6 minutes completely from your mind.Â
Finally you bring your gaze to meet his, moping a bit in the process, âYou said that last time.â
âI mean it,â he tuts, the coolness of his rings meeting your cheeks as he lays both hands flat on your face, âcan feel somethinâ different this time.â
He doesnât care that he goes in for a peck on your mouth and still feels the frown on your lips. For good measure, he delivers a few more at rapid speed until he finally feels your frown lines subside. Thatâs how he can start to feel a little more content. Heâs completely at ease when he pulls his face back a bit, analyzing the more lax expression on your face while he strokes his thumbs near your temples.Â
âMaybeâ you answer flatly, âIâm not getting my hopes up, though.â
Though heâs limited in what he can do to mitigate all that comes with the IVF process, heâs made it his priority to over-compensate in what he actually can do to try and make up for the things he canât. If he could physically take the shots himself he would in a heartbeat. But he canât, so he teeters on the border of helplessness when you get down in the mouth like this. Heâd compensate with long vacations, drowning you in little gifts sporadically or planning quirky dates to keep your energy up. There was a shift after the most recent miscarriage that even doubling the size of your wedding ring diamond couldnât reverse. So now he just tries to stick solely to offering his optimistic support whatever chance he gets.Â
âThank you for these,â you hum in gratitude as you bring the bouquet of flowers beneath your nose, âI feel like I should be getting you flowers, though.â
âFlowers foâ me?â He wiggles his eyebrows at you, âWhyâs that?â
âDidnât you just open mouth kiss my ass cheek?âÂ
His laugh starts in the back of his eyes as they crinkle in amusement, tickling the back of his throat as it spills from his mouth and echos through the kitchen. With a shake of the head he mocks you for a minute by puckering his lips, handing you the ice pack he fished out of the freezer so you could minimize the burn from the injection site.Â
He gleefully accepts your invitation to handle the flowers; unwrapping them with nimble fingers as he peels back the paper to expose the stems. Thereâs amusement twinkling in his eye as he catches you slipping the bunny shaped ice pack inside the butt of your jeans, fidgeting with it so itâll stay in one place. The amusement quickly deteriorates though when he opens the garbage to throw out the paper and greeted with something of a much more somber tone.Â
âY/N,â his shoulders drop a bit, âyâwanna tell me why these are in here?âÂ
Though your back is turned to him so you canât physically see what it is heâs referring to, you already know exactly what heâs talking about. If heâs got the garbage open you know heâs looking at the pile of baby books mounted at the very top. You know how he is, how he wants to take care of everyone all the time. And because of that, you willfully decided to omit your brief breakdown earlier when you went through your nightstand and stumbled upon those books hidden beneath a couple pairs of tights.Â
âNot particularlyâ you admit, back still turned to him, âjust had a kinda weird morning.â
Thereâs a lingering silence that takes up a chunk of space in the room. Youâre not willing to divulge anymore than you already have, and Harry waits a minute before throwing out the paper before closing the garage. He wants to make sure he strings together the proper things to say to you before saying anything at all.Â
Itâs once he gathers what he needs to that you donât hear him, but feel him; the front his body pressing into the back of yours. He smirks a bit when he feels the chill of the ice pack through your pants, hands slithering around your waist before he interlocks his fingers and rests both hands on your stomach. A hum of approval gurgles in his throat when he feels you lean into the embrace so he can rest his head atop your shoulder.Â
âSâgonna happenâ his whisper is like a lull in your ear, his lips right up against them, âWeâll go tâthe doctor in a few days and do thâextraction and just take it day by day. Good news this time, I promise.âÂ
He delivers it with kisses to your head in between words, as though itâll somehow permanently ingrain into your mind and become a staple in your thought process.Â
In a way, it almost does.Â
On a loop in your mind his words play; over and over throughout the next few days without pause in sight. He tries to reiterate them as much as he can whenever he feels like you need a little extra support; the egg retrieval, the implantation process, all of it and everything in between. If this has been a difficult road for him to go down, he truthfully canât imagine the cross youâve been bearing through it all. All he can do for the next couple of days, though it pains him there isnât anything more heâs capable of, is offer as much moral support and words of encouragement that heâs capable of producing.Â
âHow yâfeeling?â Heâs asking with a wide, forced smile as he peeks over at you from the driverâs seat, âFeelinâ good?âÂ
His hand unoccupied by the steering wheel is making itself useful on your upper thigh. Itâs where his fingers are tapping in tune to the key of the music humming from the car stereo. And every so often theyâll stop to give your leg a squeeze; his way of comforting you on the trek to the long-await, very dreaded doctors appointment. The tone of the afternoon is overkill perkiness, and Harry is setting the mood by sparing no gesture big or small.Â
âHar relax,â you laugh, âIâm all good.âÂ
Thereâs no point in rebutting with anything or doubling down on the enthusiasm like heâs been doing all morning. Youâre answer was definitive enough to tell him that you werenât interested in dragging that conversation any further than where you left it. Thatâs fine; heâs playing by your rule book today anyways.Â
Itâs why he doesnât make that cheesy cat joke to the girl behind the desk at the doctorâs office. Heâs said it about a million times and knows youâre sick of it. He doesnât stand up when the attending nurse hangs in the doorway of the waiting room, calling out for a âMs. Stylesâ and being corrected by Harry with the usual (and polite) âitâs Mrs. Actuallyâ. Heâs so sure to keep you in a calm and collected state that he doesnât make a vampire joke or pretend to pass out when the nurse puts the line into your vein to take a blood sample.Â
âNo fake faint this time,â you muse teasingly, âthey grow up so fast.âÂ
From his seat in the corner you watch him playfully roll his eyes, mimicking you under his breath before he stands up and straightens himself up. He wants to take a firm stance by you, whoâs perched meekly on the examination table swinging your legs back and forth to pass the time.Â
You wonât tell Harry in fear of him leaning into the overcompensating role of âcaretakerâ and âfixer of all problemsâ, but youâre stomach is in a million tight little knots and your eyes are starting to glaze over. At first you wanted to fault it to exhaustion; you barely got an hours worth of sleep last night because the onset of anxiety was too overbearing to keep your eyes shut for more than a few minutes.Â
âI donât think Iâm meant to be a mom,â you sigh forlornly, and his eyes go wide at the bluntness, âI donât think- I donât wanna do this again if it doesnât work, okay? Is that okay?â
Itâs almost an a-ha moment for Harry. Heâd been waiting for the other shoe to drop because he couldnât really wrap his head around how mild you were being. But there it was, the revelation from youâd heâd been holding his breath for. Itâs not what he wanted to here but nonetheless, he knew it was bound to come at some point.Â
"Whatever y'want, poppet. Just want y'to be happy."
He nods in agreement as he says it, hoping it's enough. If this was the end, than it was the end. All he can do is offer a kiss before a long-lingering hug, which you take as confirmation that he understands youâre just not equipped to keep at this further than the point youâre at.Â
âHowâre we doing today?â
Both you and Harry stiffen out a bit once the doctor immerses himself into the room, answering with a chipper âgoodâ in unison. It tells Harry to prep for the impending bad news. It feels like he regressed and sunken back into the last time he was here. The memory is almost too vivid; the perpetual ball of dread in his stomach, the look of disappointment that swept across your face before a few tears dribbled down your cheek, the sob or two you choked out in the otherwise silent car ride home. The memory is subconsciously prepping him for whatâs to come, and heâll be here to pull himself up by the boot straps to make sure you have plenty of space to crumble once the doctor reads off the plastic board in his hands.Â
âTell me how youâre feeling,â the doctor asks, plopping himself down in one of those backless spinning chairs to scoot himself closer, âanything worth making a note of? Nothing is too big or small.âÂ
âNot reallyâ Harry answer is simply a mindless, knee-jerk response, âjust like-oh, yâasking, no ok-ok sorry.âÂ
The doctor chuckles a bit, saying something to Harry about how nerves are normal. Honestly, youâre only half listening and both of them are as audible as white noise. Youâve mentally checked out as you anticipate the news to come. You wish you were out of your body or anywhere else.
âJust tired,â you admit, slowly nodding as you purse your lips, âreally tired. A little bit of cramping, too. Mostly tired, though.âÂ
Thatâs about all youâre willing to disclose for your quaint audience of two. Though you are literally and physically exhausted, perhaps there was a bit of a metaphoric meaning to it too. This process is tiring. Consistent bad news is tiring. Being physically incapable of giving Harry the child he so desperately wants is so fucking tiring.Â
All the doctor does is nod his head in a way to in-audibly tell you heâs making a mental note of your vague list of symptoms. Thereâs a terse pause where the room falls into a quiet pause. The only noise to be heard is when your doctor flips one of the pages on his clipboard before swiftly folding it in half.Â
âWell,â his breath out is in a more positive tune, âall normal symptoms for the first trimester.âÂ
Your eyebrows knit together in confusion before your body begins to go completely numb, though Harryâs hand gives your a comforting squeeze. He looks at you first, lips spread in a little O as his eyes nearly double in size. Frantically he tries to rack his brain for something to say, and while nothing seems to be coming out, the doctor swoops in to do enough talking for him.
The doctor extends his hand out to you, the folded paper in his palm and a grin etched on the lower half of his face, âCongratulations.â
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harry would soo be that protective husband that doesnât allow strangers to randomly touch y/nâs bump without her consent đ„Č
BYEEEEEE IMagINE
Like y/n is far enough along now where sheâs SHOWING in everything. Itâs just this un-ignorable bump thatâs so cute and obvious. And at a little holiday party you guys are talking to a group of people - everythingâs fine and he is just loving how much people are complimenting you!
Like Harry just bathes in the swooning and awwâing. He loves how people notice the pregnancy glow and how happy you look. And he always keeps his hands on your stomach to just rub little circles. Or heâll keep it there flat on the base because he wants to be a part of it all somehow.
So sometimes people get it confused as an invitation to show the belly some love, which really pisses him off. Especially when this random woman youâre talking to goes to feel it.
âAht aht,â he reprimands, âthis is not a petting zoo. Donât touch the art!â
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Literally will be happy with either or but Iâm superrr excited for the birth piece đđ©·
I CAN'T WAIT FOR YOU ALL TO READ IT!!
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do their close family and friends know they had a miscarriage or did they keep it to themselves ?
I think they keep an explicitly tight lid on it with the exception of a select few. When it comes to family Harry is EXTREMELY private and telling too many people leaves them susceptible to having that information leaked.
They only told a very, very small and select grouping of people that they found out they were pregnant to begin with; very intermediate family members and less than a handful of their closest friends. Post miscarriage they wait a few weeks to come to terms with it before sharing that news though. Because saying it to other people makes it real and then you have to deal with the somber expressions, the 'I'm so sorry' speech, exc.,
Of course, when they decide to rejoin the world and press play on life again, Harry's making phone calls. He makes it a point to tell whoever you're going to be around that knew you were pregnant to not bring it up, and to treat you as they normally would. He's attentive :')
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the longer the better ! đ„°đ„°đ„°
PRAISE YOU
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Harry kissing the spot where he put the needle in yn is sooo endearing :â)))
For good luck đ„č
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Needle
Summary: in which Harry brings you flowers to minimize the pain of a needle, and you've decided to throw out your baby books.
Word Count: 2.6k
Author's note: taking it to the very beginning and gifting all of us (myself included) the series of events that brought us to our reigning queen: Angel Baby.
It's her world, we're just living in it: she lives here
Itâs resting menacingly between his fingers, staring you down as though itâs got a mind of itâs own. Thereâs a very familiar sensation thatâs starting to conjure itself up in the pit of your stomach; fear and the anticipation of unavoidable pain. Honestly, the longer you fixate on the bulk of the needle the more the feeling that started in your gut starts to expand towards your chest.Â
âJust do it,â you blurt out, âget it over with.â
Youâre not intentionally trying to squirm. Fight or flight is just loitering deep within your instinctual reflexes, which is making it kind of hard not to writhe around a bit. You donât know if itâs the gush of cool air that falls in through the cracked window or the way Harry moves closer to your exposed abdomen but you canât help but jolt a bit.Â
âJust hold still poppet, promise mâgonna make it quick.âÂ
Heâs eye level with your lower back now, crouched down with his knees hovering brazenly above his feet. Before he advances any closer he peeks up at you. Itâs almost as if heâs silently asking for permission to get on with it. You just nod before sealing your eyes shut, like you typically do.Â
Thereâs an entire routine for this thatâs he nailed down to a T. In an attempt to soothe a bit of your nerves, he always lays his hand flat to the base of your stomach. Thatâs where he lets his thumb rub a few circles as a way to ease the nerves a bit; not just yours, but his too. His newest addition is delivering a small kiss to the spot he pokes you with the needle. Thereâs no rhyme or reason to it, but he feels like an extra step for good luck couldnât hurt at this point. He doesnât mind that this particular shot goes into your butt. Heâs big on good luck rituals, so heâs not about to fuck with the juju on this one.
One bit he refuses to change is to dig up something distracting to draw your attention elsewhere. It doesnât always work. In fact, you donât think itâs ever worked at all. Youâd never outwardly admit that itâs a useless ploy; you know heâs just trying to take some of the edge off. Each time itâs something different and he always tries to pick something ridiculous or outlandishly stupid.Â
âYâknow,â he grins as he takes the fleshy part of your belly in between his thumb and index finger âI literally just kissed your ass.â
A proud smirk plants itself on his mouth when he hears an exhale-like laugh slip out of you. It fades into a frown though as he jabs at you with the needle, because you suck it back in with a sharp breath. One of your hands is gripping onto the basin of the sink, and the other is digging itâs fingers into the flimsy material of his shoulder in an attempt to offset the impending burning sensation. He can almost feel your fingernails creating small crescents into the surface of his skin.Â
Itâs a relief once he can finally pull the needle out. He hates seeing you in pain. Even though this was an endeavor you both willingly agreed to embark on, he hates being the one to put you in pain. Thatâs why he breathes out in comforting release when he can put the empty needle onto the kitchen counter.Â
âSâall finished now,â his tone is so calm because he knows the stifling burning sensation is well underway, âno more shots.â
His eyes are trained on you as you wiggle your jeans back up your legs, wincing a bit when the denim veers over the injection spot. And you fiddle with the zipper before looping the button back in, smoothing out your shirt over the waistband as a way to push the last 6 minutes completely from your mind.Â
Finally you bring your gaze to meet his, moping a bit in the process, âYou said that last time.â
âI mean it,â he tuts, the coolness of his rings meeting your cheeks as he lays both hands flat on your face, âcan feel somethinâ different this time.â
He doesnât care that he goes in for a peck on your mouth and still feels the frown on your lips. For good measure, he delivers a few more at rapid speed until he finally feels your frown lines subside. Thatâs how he can start to feel a little more content. Heâs completely at ease when he pulls his face back a bit, analyzing the more lax expression on your face while he strokes his thumbs near your temples.Â
âMaybeâ you answer flatly, âIâm not getting my hopes up, though.â
Though heâs limited in what he can do to mitigate all that comes with the IVF process, heâs made it his priority to over-compensate in what he actually can do to try and make up for the things he canât. If he could physically take the shots himself he would in a heartbeat. But he canât, so he teeters on the border of helplessness when you get down in the mouth like this. Heâd compensate with long vacations, drowning you in little gifts sporadically or planning quirky dates to keep your energy up. There was a shift after the most recent miscarriage that even doubling the size of your wedding ring diamond couldnât reverse. So now he just tries to stick solely to offering his optimistic support whatever chance he gets.Â
âThank you for these,â you hum in gratitude as you bring the bouquet of flowers beneath your nose, âI feel like I should be getting you flowers, though.â
âFlowers foâ me?â He wiggles his eyebrows at you, âWhyâs that?â
âDidnât you just open mouth kiss my ass cheek?âÂ
His laugh starts in the back of his eyes as they crinkle in amusement, tickling the back of his throat as it spills from his mouth and echos through the kitchen. With a shake of the head he mocks you for a minute by puckering his lips, handing you the ice pack he fished out of the freezer so you could minimize the burn from the injection site.Â
He gleefully accepts your invitation to handle the flowers; unwrapping them with nimble fingers as he peels back the paper to expose the stems. Thereâs amusement twinkling in his eye as he catches you slipping the bunny shaped ice pack inside the butt of your jeans, fidgeting with it so itâll stay in one place. The amusement quickly deteriorates though when he opens the garbage to throw out the paper and greeted with something of a much more somber tone.Â
âY/N,â his shoulders drop a bit, âyâwanna tell me why these are in here?âÂ
Though your back is turned to him so you canât physically see what it is heâs referring to, you already know exactly what heâs talking about. If heâs got the garbage open you know heâs looking at the pile of baby books mounted at the very top. You know how he is, how he wants to take care of everyone all the time. And because of that, you willfully decided to omit your brief breakdown earlier when you went through your nightstand and stumbled upon those books hidden beneath a couple pairs of tights.Â
âNot particularlyâ you admit, back still turned to him, âjust had a kinda weird morning.â
Thereâs a lingering silence that takes up a chunk of space in the room. Youâre not willing to divulge anymore than you already have, and Harry waits a minute before throwing out the paper before closing the garage. He wants to make sure he strings together the proper things to say to you before saying anything at all.Â
Itâs once he gathers what he needs to that you donât hear him, but feel him; the front his body pressing into the back of yours. He smirks a bit when he feels the chill of the ice pack through your pants, hands slithering around your waist before he interlocks his fingers and rests both hands on your stomach. A hum of approval gurgles in his throat when he feels you lean into the embrace so he can rest his head atop your shoulder.Â
âSâgonna happenâ his whisper is like a lull in your ear, his lips right up against them, âWeâll go tâthe doctor in a few days and do thâextraction and just take it day by day. Good news this time, I promise.âÂ
He delivers it with kisses to your head in between words, as though itâll somehow permanently ingrain into your mind and become a staple in your thought process.Â
In a way, it almost does.Â
On a loop in your mind his words play; over and over throughout the next few days without pause in sight. He tries to reiterate them as much as he can whenever he feels like you need a little extra support; the egg retrieval, the implantation process, all of it and everything in between. If this has been a difficult road for him to go down, he truthfully canât imagine the cross youâve been bearing through it all. All he can do for the next couple of days, though it pains him there isnât anything more heâs capable of, is offer as much moral support and words of encouragement that heâs capable of producing.Â
âHow yâfeeling?â Heâs asking with a wide, forced smile as he peeks over at you from the driverâs seat, âFeelinâ good?âÂ
His hand unoccupied by the steering wheel is making itself useful on your upper thigh. Itâs where his fingers are tapping in tune to the key of the music humming from the car stereo. And every so often theyâll stop to give your leg a squeeze; his way of comforting you on the trek to the long-await, very dreaded doctors appointment. The tone of the afternoon is overkill perkiness, and Harry is setting the mood by sparing no gesture big or small.Â
âHar relax,â you laugh, âIâm all good.âÂ
Thereâs no point in rebutting with anything or doubling down on the enthusiasm like heâs been doing all morning. Youâre answer was definitive enough to tell him that you werenât interested in dragging that conversation any further than where you left it. Thatâs fine; heâs playing by your rule book today anyways.Â
Itâs why he doesnât make that cheesy cat joke to the girl behind the desk at the doctorâs office. Heâs said it about a million times and knows youâre sick of it. He doesnât stand up when the attending nurse hangs in the doorway of the waiting room, calling out for a âMs. Stylesâ and being corrected by Harry with the usual (and polite) âitâs Mrs. Actuallyâ. Heâs so sure to keep you in a calm and collected state that he doesnât make a vampire joke or pretend to pass out when the nurse puts the line into your vein to take a blood sample.Â
âNo fake faint this time,â you muse teasingly, âthey grow up so fast.âÂ
From his seat in the corner you watch him playfully roll his eyes, mimicking you under his breath before he stands up and straightens himself up. He wants to take a firm stance by you, whoâs perched meekly on the examination table swinging your legs back and forth to pass the time.Â
You wonât tell Harry in fear of him leaning into the overcompensating role of âcaretakerâ and âfixer of all problemsâ, but youâre stomach is in a million tight little knots and your eyes are starting to glaze over. At first you wanted to fault it to exhaustion; you barely got an hours worth of sleep last night because the onset of anxiety was too overbearing to keep your eyes shut for more than a few minutes.Â
âI donât think Iâm meant to be a mom,â you sigh forlornly, and his eyes go wide at the bluntness, âI donât think- I donât wanna do this again if it doesnât work, okay? Is that okay?â
Itâs almost an a-ha moment for Harry. Heâd been waiting for the other shoe to drop because he couldnât really wrap his head around how mild you were being. But there it was, the revelation from youâd heâd been holding his breath for. Itâs not what he wanted to here but nonetheless, he knew it was bound to come at some point.Â
"Whatever y'want, poppet. Just want y'to be happy."
He nods in agreement as he says it, hoping it's enough. If this was the end, than it was the end. All he can do is offer a kiss before a long-lingering hug, which you take as confirmation that he understands youâre just not equipped to keep at this further than the point youâre at.Â
âHowâre we doing today?â
Both you and Harry stiffen out a bit once the doctor immerses himself into the room, answering with a chipper âgoodâ in unison. It tells Harry to prep for the impending bad news. It feels like he regressed and sunken back into the last time he was here. The memory is almost too vivid; the perpetual ball of dread in his stomach, the look of disappointment that swept across your face before a few tears dribbled down your cheek, the sob or two you choked out in the otherwise silent car ride home. The memory is subconsciously prepping him for whatâs to come, and heâll be here to pull himself up by the boot straps to make sure you have plenty of space to crumble once the doctor reads off the plastic board in his hands.Â
âTell me how youâre feeling,â the doctor asks, plopping himself down in one of those backless spinning chairs to scoot himself closer, âanything worth making a note of? Nothing is too big or small.âÂ
âNot reallyâ Harry answer is simply a mindless, knee-jerk response, âjust like-oh, yâasking, no ok-ok sorry.âÂ
The doctor chuckles a bit, saying something to Harry about how nerves are normal. Honestly, youâre only half listening and both of them are as audible as white noise. Youâve mentally checked out as you anticipate the news to come. You wish you were out of your body or anywhere else.
âJust tired,â you admit, slowly nodding as you purse your lips, âreally tired. A little bit of cramping, too. Mostly tired, though.âÂ
Thatâs about all youâre willing to disclose for your quaint audience of two. Though you are literally and physically exhausted, perhaps there was a bit of a metaphoric meaning to it too. This process is tiring. Consistent bad news is tiring. Being physically incapable of giving Harry the child he so desperately wants is so fucking tiring.Â
All the doctor does is nod his head in a way to in-audibly tell you heâs making a mental note of your vague list of symptoms. Thereâs a terse pause where the room falls into a quiet pause. The only noise to be heard is when your doctor flips one of the pages on his clipboard before swiftly folding it in half.Â
âWell,â his breath out is in a more positive tune, âall normal symptoms for the first trimester.âÂ
Your eyebrows knit together in confusion before your body begins to go completely numb, though Harryâs hand gives your a comforting squeeze. He looks at you first, lips spread in a little O as his eyes nearly double in size. Frantically he tries to rack his brain for something to say, and while nothing seems to be coming out, the doctor swoops in to do enough talking for him.
The doctor extends his hand out to you, the folded paper in his palm and a grin etched on the lower half of his face, âCongratulations.â
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