I had spent pretty much every morning for the past month and a half hunched over the toilet, emptying out my stomach. And this morning was no different. I shakily stood up, tired, moody and achy, and staggered downstairs, knocking on my step-son Matthew’s door. “Maple, get up or I’m sending the dog in.” I called through the teen’s door, glancing at his pet dog/bear (at least, that’s what its’ size suggested) Kumajiro. A quiet grumble came from the other side of the door.
“D’accord Belle-mère.” He called through the door. I smiled sadly at Matthew’s words, plodding downstairs to the kitchen where my husband, Francis, was. The scent of pancakes and croissants invaded my nose as I went into the kitchen.
“Bonne Ma-” I covered my mouth, racing out of the kitchen to the toilet under the stairs.
“(NAME)?” Francis said, following me into the bathroom. He sat behind me as I was hunched over on my knees, holding my (H/C) (H/L) hair back as I emptied my stomach again. After I’d sorted myself out and sat myself in the kitchen without having to dash away again, Francis walked in. “Ma Cherie?
“Oui, Mon Ange?” I replied, taking another sip out of a glass of water. He looked at me, sitting across from me.
“What was wrong this morning?” He asked, smiling softly. I sighed, running a hand through my hair.
“Just the usual, morning sickness.” My husband kissed me on the forehead and gave me a tight hug, going back to the cooker to finish breakfast for us two and Mattie. Said teen walked in, dressed in preppy school uniform and smiling softly.
“Morning, (NAME). Are you feeling any better?” He asked quietly, sitting next to me. I nodded, watching Francis put food into plates. “Should you be eating?” He also asked, frowning. I sighed, rolling my eyes.
“I’m hungry, so I shall eat.” I said stubbornly. Francis smirked, coming to sit with us.
“I’m warning you,” He said with a grin. “I know it won’t stay in your system too long.” You smirked, eventually proving him right.
“Matty! Can you come up and help me for a bit?” I yelled down the stairs at the teen.
“But Maman, Gil’s over.” He complained. I rolled my eyes.
“Gil can help then.” I waddled back into the spare room, rubbing my forehead with the back of my hand. The two teens appeared here a few minutes later, casually coming in. “Thanks lads.” I said, nodding at them. They looked around.
“So we’re gonna be painting I guess?” Gil asked grinning. I nodded gesturing to some cans of paint.
“Yup, but don’t mess it up.” I grouchily replied, rubbing my swollen belly and starting to paint again. We’d decided on red, it was a fairly neutral colour and the skirting boards were a bright blue.
“So, Mrs Bonnefoy, how ready are you for this?” Gil asked, starting on the skirting boards. I sighed, standing on my tippy toes to get to the top of the wall.
“We have pretty much everything ready, but I’m not so confident.” I said honestly, dripping paint on myself accidentally. “But Francis knows what he’s doing. He did raise Matty.” I grinned, flicking at the boy in question. He laughed quietly, Gilbert bellowing out a laugh. We got on with the painting finished and dried in a few hours, and they started to move furniture and things in, and put fairy lights up. After it was finished, the three of us stood at the door. “It looks awesome.” I said, grinning.
“Not as awesome as me.” Gil said, making me and Matthew roll our eyes.
“Stop pacing.” I grumbled, shutting my eyes and relaxing as much as I could in a hospital. Francis threw a tired glare at me, running a hand through his messy blonde hair. “And don’t glare at me either, this isn’t my fault.” Francis sighed, coming to sit on the bed next to me.
“I know, mon cher.” He muttered, putting an arm around my shoulders and holding my hand. I gripped his hand, nails digging in as another contraction hit. I grabbed onto him, whimpering. Francis frowned, rubbing my back and trying desperately to comfort me.
“I can’t do it.” I muttered to my husband, gripping at him. “I just can’t.” He hugged me tightly, rocking me slightly.
“You’ve been doing it for at least 5 hours already, ma belle. Please, you can do it, just hold on.” I nodded, whimpering.
Four hours of pain, screaming and empty threats (we had established that Francis was now sleeping on the sofa for the rest of our married life) later, I finally had my baby girl in my arms. Francis sat next to me, grinning and holding me close. “She’s just as gorgeous as you.” He whispered, rubbing my side.
“Well, she has your eyes. And your nose as well.” I said, glancing at him then back at the baby. Francis chuckled.
“Non, that looks like your nose.”
“Nu-uh. She looks like you facially.”
“Well, she’ll have your attitude then.” He said. “Which should be fun.”
We laughed, before being interrupted by a loud Prussian bursting into the room.
“Ze awesome Gilbert is here with his awesome boyfriend!” He yelled, striding into the room. Mattie shuffled in, smiling nervously.
“Is he OK?” Mattie said nervously, pointing to the baby.
“Is she OK,” I corrected, grinning from ear to ear. Gilbert cheered.
“So, what is she called?” He asked. I glanced at my husband, grimacing. Mattie laughed.
“9 months and you seriously haven’t thought of names?”