camp cherry three | hs

sixty five

HANA

Pregnancy is difficult. Not to mention painful. All those movies I watched in my childhood and books or online articles I've read over the past few months about the experience don't even come close to the real thing.

Two weeks have passed since my twenty-sixth birthday, (it still feels unreal that I'm at that age, considering I'm typically still twenty-two in my head) and it's as if a flip has switched. Before then, my pregnancy symptoms were relatively mild: some sickness, headaches, pretty tame mood swings that could be fixed with a long cuddle from Harry and a nap.

After that day, however, this child has given me absolute hell.

Apparently, the majority of problems I'm suffering are pretty common around this stage of pregnancy, but that doesn't change the fact it fucking sucks. Heartburn so bad it's debilitating, back pain that, sometimes, prevents me from walking and I have to rope Harry into giving me a massage (whilst simultaneously cuddling me, obviously), and the worst - leg cramps. Allegedly, there's not much explanation as to why some women develop them around five to six months along, but whatever the reason is, they still make me want to scream out of pure frustration.

And the mood swings, which are honestly more Harry's problem to deal with, are unbelievable. I think the combination of my hormones going crazy and the constant frustration at the pain is really trying to take me out.

Flipping from calmly making myself and Harry a coffee to crying inconsolably about a movie we'd watched just last week to having a sudden urge to suck his dick is rather jarring, to be honest, but I suppose that's an inevitable part of pregnancy, and I've yet to hear any complaints from Harry when I do suddenly feel inexplicably horny. To be fair, I can't be blamed, considering the mess of emotions and hormones currently hurtling around my body.

That predicament is currently rather obvious as I sit in bed, a deep frown on my face as I watch some random television show about penguins caring for their children. Harry's learnt over the past two weeks to knock delicately before entering the room, because any disruption has caused me to simply burst into tears for absolutely no reason. Now is no exception, a gentle knock sounding from the door and coaxing me from my trance, and his head pokes around the corner a moment later.

"Hi, Cherrypop. Can I come in?"

"Yes. Come cuddle me."

He nods with an endearing smile plastered onto his mouth, closing the door softly and padding over to the bed. Although I'm laid underneath the duvet, he simply rests on top, looping his arm around my shoulders and guiding me into his chest. He's so warm that I could fall asleep right then and there, but then they show a group of penguin chicks, as they're apparently called, and I can't help but sniffle at the sheer cuteness.

I feel Harry stiffen above me, having gotten quite used to the signs that I may or may not have a solid crying session in the imminent future. "Han? Are you crying over the penguins again?"

"They're just so cute."

"I thought we talked about banning the animal channel. Baby animals are not good for your mental state right now."

"Look at them, Harry," I demand, pouting sincerely at him, though his expression remains neutral aside from one eyebrow being slightly raised. "Look how precious they are. If I put on Titanic, you'd be crying with me."

"That was personal."

"And dearly deserved. At least I have an excuse for being emotional. You're just a sap."

He pretends to scoff in offence, poking my side gently, "I'm in tune with my emotions. I thought that was a good thing. Feminism and stuff."

Turning over, he ends up laid flat with me resting half on top of him, absorbing his warmth and overwhelming love. My palm rests softly on his cheek, and he just looks so pretty right now that I mutter, "be quiet and kiss me," and that's that.