Foto bij 581. - Lucien

There is four more days until I leave. Just for a week, to London, so if anything happens I'll be right there, but still. After the dinner together, Eschieve and Beth ended up staying the night. Combine that with work and persistent morning sickness, and you get the wet, exhausted rag that Emma is the following weekend. By now we've just about tried everything to ease the sickness, but nothing seems to work. It seems that she's just going to have to ride it out.
"After the twelfth week everything is supposed to get better." She's got her face hidden in the hoodie that I'm wearing, curled up in a tight little ball next to me. She's just made her third trip to the bathroom this morning. "I can't wait for that."
"I know." I mutter. I hate feelings this helpless; I can't do much more than brush my fingers through her hair and hold her when she needs me to.
"Can you believe there's women who do this for the entire nine months?" She pulls her blanket up a little higher, now almost entirely hidden from sight. "If this continues I'm going to get myself into a medically induced coma until the baby is ready to come out."
"I would much prefer it if you didn't." I say with a light chuckle. "Aside from the fact that I would miss you, I'm not sure if I'd be able to cope with seeing your belly grow while you're knocked out like that. That is some horror-movie shit."
No reply, only a misery-filled groan so intense I feel it vibrate against my stomach. I keep playing with her hair and drawing figures on her back, eyeing the half-empty glass of water on the coffee table. The doctor urged us to keep Emma well hydrated, or she's going to end up in the hospital. She tries, but often the first sip just triggers a second bolt of sickness. She finally seems to be comfortable, her form slowly relaxing, so I don't dare bothering her about it now.
"I know it's not going to make it better now, but we can assume it's all going to be worth it when they actually get here, can't we?" I offer gently. "We'll come home right here. Part of our room will accomidated to her -"
"Her?" comes the weak voice from somewhere in my lap.
"Or him. But I feel it might be a girl. I know it's much to early to find out, but you know. Gut feeling."
"My guts are feeling lots of things right now, but none of them are the gender of our baby."
"Trust my guts, then. They seem to be far more reliable than yours now anyway."
Another grunt. "Continue talking. About bringing her home."
"Well, like I said, our room is big enough to fit everything she needs. She'd be right there with us, at least in the beginning. Frank comes to greet her, and makes it his immediate duty to protect her from everything. This includes us, until he figures out that we're there to take care of her. And then we'll sit right here, with her in cradled in my lap. She's sucking on your pinky, and just like her you're half asleep with your head on my shoulder, because you just gave birth and are exhausted. I sing you both lullabies from my childhood, and soon enough you're not just half asleep. And when you both sleep, you look so incredibly alike it's almost scary. And I just sit there, admiring the view from the two people I love most in this entire world."
There comes no response from Emma. Her breathing is slow and steady, betraying how she has fallen asleep. I smile, brushing my thumb over her temple.

That afternoon, we have our first echo. It's not for another couple of hours, but after waking up from her two-hour nap, Emma decided that she needed some fresh air. Despite it being March the weather is still quite harsh, forcing us into our scarves and gloves, but it takes just a few minutes for some of the colour to come back to her cheeks. I'm relieved to see it, honestly. Emma insists that it's not going to get that far, but I'm anxious that she's going to end up in the hospital for malnutrition or dehydration. Not only because I'd be worried sick about her and our baby, but also because I dislike hospitals in general. I've put my best effords in avoiding them ever since Aleran died.
"Hey, I'm supposed to be the one with the pregnancy brain." Emma chides me, tapping the pack of coffee grounds in my hand. We're in our favourite tea-and-coffee-shop, stocking up on necessities that we've blown through in the last months, and also some caffeine free products for Emma. The pack I'm holding isn't one we're getting - I just wanted to check it out - only we've already passed to the next aisle.
"You're rubbing off on me." I smile. With a kiss on her temple I quickly go to put her back, and then join her back at the shelves that display tens upon tens of different teas. Lucky for us, there's plenty of herbal teas.
"I can't believe I'm having to give up green tea for seven months still." She pouts. "First wine, then sushi, and now tea. It's not fair."
"I can join you with in only drinking herbal tea, out of solidarity." I offer, half-grinning. As expected, she rolls her eyes at me.
"And then drink coffee and whiskey right after, I bet. That defeats the whole point."
"Only so much I can do, I'm afraid."
"Very supportive of you." She smiles, moving on from green teas to the ones that she is allowed to drink. We end up picking six different flavours of loose-leaf tea. Emma ensures me that's the best way to drink it, and I don't argue because she's British and supposedly they know their tea. Besides, where I was already at a point where I'd give her just about anything she'd ask for, that feeling has only intesified. Especially with me going away. When we head out of the store, Emma grabs my hand, just as we see a paparazzo flee into the crowd. I'm not worried; Emma isn't showing any way yet.
"Ready to see our baby?" Emma ask breathlessly as we head towards the car, and my stomach does a little flip.
"Let's go."

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