Amour [h.s]

☼ thirty six ☼

"I'll thank my lucky stars for that night"

☼ ☼ ☼

Trigger warning: emetophobia

Harry

It's been four weeks of desperately praying that a child, my child, was growing inside of Amelie. It's been four weeks of hell, making myself worried sick that perhaps we weren't going to conceive easily.

I had googled relentlessly, how quickly women are supposed to show symptoms of pregnancy, and I knew the results wouldn't be instant, but I became a little deflated when google told me that some people can tell the week after, though most symptoms happen two to three weeks after sex.

Amelie and I had been at it quite frequently but it had been four weeks since we first had unprotected sex, and I was starting to get antsy.

That is until Amelie started complaining of headaches and dizziness just three days ago, she was suffering with such a migraine that she could barely even be in a room with Milo, her head was so sensitive.

I could've cried with happiness when she threw up her breakfast yesterday. Of course I was incredibly supportive in the moment, but I did have to take a second out, just to do a little happy dance at the thought of Amelie possibly being pregnant.

It didn't seem to be a fluke either, she had woken me up at five this morning to empty her stomach into the toilet of our hotel, she then decided to get at least another half an hours sleep with a blanket and pillow laid next to the toilet.

"Mama oh" Milo points at the toilet door after seeing his mother run in there.

At eleven months old his vocabulary was still pretty limited, sticking with mama, oh, hi, pop and no. He was going through a phase where he was continuously growling, and having a toy lion as a comfort item wasn't diffusing the situation.

"Mummy's poorly" I tell him with a pout, swinging him over the barrier of the play pen so I was able to check on Amelie.

"I won't be long bambino, I just need to make sure mummy's okay" I say to him, before rushing off into the bathroom to follow Amelie.

"I'm here my love" I speak, quickly kneeling on the floor to hold her hair back and rub her back, offering all the support I can.

"This is awful" she heaves into the toilet, wanting nothing more than for this to be over.

"I know amour, it's not nice" I hum in agreement, trying my hardest not to breathe through my nose.

"Who do you think I caught it from? No one has been sick" she asks, flushing the toilet and wiping her mouth with some tissue. She rests her arms on the toilet seat as she pushes her hair away from her face.