The Changing Room [h.s]

Chapter 5.5

November 30, 2020

12 weeks pregnant

2:12am

I read the time on the clock on my bedside table and let out a silent sigh. I love our baby with every part of my being, but little angel loves to keep me awake at night.

I've had to come to terms with the fact I'm a pregnant insomniac. I can sleep at any moment during the day, always napping if I'm given the opportunity, but the second the stars appear, sleep doesn't come.

So, during my sleepless hours, I'll read, write blog posts in my head, get out of bed and bake, toss up possible names in my head, and daydream, or more, nightdream about the little one. More often though, I'll just lay in the dark and smile at the sleeping man beside me with his soft curls and his pouty lips.

He and I always fall asleep and wake up with my head on his chest and my hand on a sparrow, but I've learnt that that's not the case during the night. During the night, he'll find any way to get closer to me as though I'm his only source of warmth.

Speaking of him, he makes his presence known by rolling around so he's flat on his stomach, his arm slinging itself over my stomach and our tiny bump, over the cover of the duvet. His head falls into my shoulder and he buries himself there, his lips pressed against the base of my neck.

For one, his hair is slightly ticklish against my neck, and the whole movement just makes me suppress a laugh. He's so endearing, especially when he's sleeping and doesn't know he's doing it.

I reach my hand out from under the duvet and readjust it so Harry's arm slips under the duvet, now touching my stomach directly. I'm not entirely sure why I do it, but my guess is that it has something to do with the way every part of him is always drawn to touch the place his daughter or son currently calls home.

He's always touching in some way, whether it's his palms on my stomach or his hands on my waist or his lips in either spot, he's always touching. He radiates his warmth, both physical and metaphorical, when his hands rest on my stomach, and I can't complain about that. His love language is touch, and I love his touches and I like to think they love me and our baby.

I think it's his way of feeling like he has some part in his baby's growth, but honestly, it wouldn't surprise me if it's just jealousy that I'm pregnant and he's not.

In all honesty though, he is every reason for this baby's growth. Evidently he was useful during conception, but he's also amazing now. From his facts, to his comforting words, to the ever present fruit bowl filled solely with peaches sitting on the kitchen counter, I'm always in awe of him.

I was there to see him star in a movie, to see him perform to stadiums of thousands of people every night, to see him wear a dress on the cover of Vogue and most recently, I was there six days ago to see him answer a call to find out he'd been nominated for 3 Grammys. There isn't even a word to describe how mesmerising he is.

I'm the same age as him and I think my biggest achievement is accidentally getting pregnant while on birth control. Even then, half of that was his achievement too.

But regardless of that, I was there, I am here, and I'll always be wherever he wants me to be, and I've never loved him more than I do for just being my Harry, the one who makes sure there are always peaches in the bowl on the kitchen counter.

Like he knows I'm thinking about him, he lets out a soft little sigh into my neck and his fingers curl around my waist. His hair brushes my jawline, and despite the fact it's about to make me laugh, I make no effort to move.

The longer I lay here tangled up in tattooed limbs thinking about that peach bowl, the more awake I become, and noticeably the hungrier I become. In fact, I'm starving at nearly 3am in the morning. More so, it's probably my child that is starving.