We're Having Our Baby

Thirteen

Emma's P.O.V  August 7th

My mom and Harry were up and ready to work on the nursery by 8am this morning. I'm glad they're so excited, but I would have appreciated another hour or so of sleep. Normally if Harry is up before me, I fall back to sleep right away, but not when my mom is also awake, loudly discussing where furniture should go in Charlie's room.

It's after lunch now, and I've given up on trying to help with the nursery. For one, neither of them will allow me to lift a single thing. I tried telling them that I'm only pregnant, not on my death bed, but they persisted.

The smell of the paint is also finally making me nauseous, and I'm growing tired of listening to their bickering on which wall the crib should go on. Harry thinks it will look best across from the door and centered, but my mom says it should be placed in the corner at a diagonal next to the changing table. By the sound of it, Harry will be getting his way, but I know my mom still has some fight left in her. That's one thing that I used to hate but now love about my mom. She's always been so stubborn, and it caused a lot of fights between us when I was a teenager, but her determination is what saved us from my dad all those times.

"Baby, please come in here and convince your mum that the crib should go on this wall," Harry yells from Charlie's room.

"I found a painting online the other day that would go so well with the theme and it would look perfect hanging behind the crib," Harry explains as I make my way into the room, cringing at the smell of fresh paint.

"He showed me the painting, and it's nothing special," my mom argues.

"Just put the crib on the wall and Harry you can get the stupid painting," I say, bringing my fingertips to my temple.

"Finally, thank you," Harry sighs but pulls me into him when he sees my distraught state. "Are you okay? Do you have a headache? Can I get you any-"

"Shh," I close my eyes and whisper, "I have a headache and on top of the smell your constant bickering is not helping."

"I'm so sorry, Em," Harry whispers back and wraps his arms tighter around me, "Do you want to lay down in the basement? I don't think the smell has reached down there, plus it's dark."

"Will you hold me?" I ask Harry. All of these hormones have made me extra clingy recently and I'm getting jealous of my mom hogging my husband.

"You guys go rest and I'll finish organizing the room," my mom shoos us out the door.

"Okay, but make sure the crib goes on that wall," Harry retorts and my mom raises her arms as a surrender.

Without warning, Harry scoops me into his arms and carries us all the way to the darkest room in the house, being the movie room in the basement.

"It's cold down here," I complain.

"Stay here and I'll go get some blankets from the living room," Harry says quietly.

"Can you bring my grandma's blue one?"

"Of course," Harry leaves a kiss on my forehead as I make myself comfortable on the couch, even though I know I'll have to adjust when he gets back.

A few minutes later, Harry is back with three blankets, pain reliever, my water bottle, and one of his sweatshirts.

"It's still August you know," I comment, looking at the blankets and sweatshirt while taking a swig of the water.

"I didn't know how cold you were, and I need my babies to be warm," he responds, covering the both of us with the blue blanket, then pulling me into his chest and placing his arms around me to rest on my belly.