𝑌𝑜𝑢'𝑟𝑒 𝑂𝑛 𝑌𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑂𝑤𝑛 𝐾𝑖𝑑

Pins Hurt Man! - XXXIV

11th January

Over the next week and a half, life moved back into its normal blur.

It was like life was on a constant rotation of eat, sleep, paperwork, repeat.

There was an added colour to the blur of life though with my coronation coming up in the next about week and a half.

No matter what, it was on my birthday.

So, of course with that, came final dress fittings, which were becoming slightly harder to do with a growing baby bump.

Luckily, with the cold weather and not that many balls at this time of year, the bump was easy to hide under baggy clothing, but it was safe to say that it was growing.

Since New Year's, Jameson has told me to stop swearing as much because of the fact that he double checked when a baby's hearing started to develop and when they could start to properly hear things.

Which meant I was either getting him, Xander or Alice to swear for me.

But the more annoying thing was the dress fittings.

It was as if every time I had one, the bump seemed to be getting bigger, but since it's a week and a half before my coronation, this should be the last time for alterations to be made.

So, as I stood there, letting the seamstresses make the adjustments needed for the gown to fit, be pinned and then I could be on my way and pick up the dress next weekend, before the coronation.

As the seamstresses worked, I looked over the dress; the gold and white fabric wrapping around me nicely at the moment as it's not zipped up, but will hopefully look as good on the day, the corseted bodice coming to rest just on top of where the start of my baby bump is before it all just became skirts and you would never even know there is a baby bump to hide.

I knew I would have to say at one point or another, but I would much rather be asked in an interview about it than make a public announcement at the moment.

My mind then travelled back to the dress I was wearing as I continued to look over all the tiny little details and wondering how the hell I was going to survive my coronation without puking or falling on my face.

My thoughts were dragged away from that though, when I heard the bell chime on the door in the seamstress shop and I looked up to see Jameson carrying a couple of takeaway cups and covering his eyes partly as he sat them on a side table near a couple of seats.

"Am I okay to look?" He asked and I smiled, looking over at him through the mirror, before replying.

"Yes, it's okay," I say as I see Jameson then look up to see me in the dress as I continue with what I was saying, "It's not as if this is a wedding dress."

"Yeah, well it feels like it sometimes when you look this fucking fabulous," Jameson says, amazed, clearly by how I looked in the dress.

"Hey, why do you get to swear and I don't?" I ask, annoyed.

"Because, like I've said, the bay can now hear you talking, but it's hearing hasn't developed enough to hear me talking from a few metres away," Jameson responds and I nod as he walks around with the takeaway cup and passes me one, "One peppermint tea to help with nausea and anxiety, m'lady."

"Thank you so much," I say cheerfully as I take the cup before taking a sip. My morning sickness had been slightly dodgy over the past week, and it's supposed to start calming down now that I'm in the second trimester, but added anxiety and stress clearly doesn't help it.

As I was taking said sip, I felt a sharp object poke into the back of my left knee where the seamstresses were pinning so then the skirts looked slightly more natural when the waist was adjusted.

My knee gave out slightly and Jameson caught my arm before I spilled the hot tea all over me, the dress and the floor.

I quickly stood back upright as the seamstresses went back to their work after apologising, which I accepted, but if my knee could talk on the other hand...

Well, that's a whole nother matter.

"I'm fine," I say to Jameson as the seamstresses move from the skirts to my torso.

"Alright, I was just going to check," He replies and I give him a tight-lipped smile in response as the seamstresses begin pinning bits of the bodice of the dress before I let out a small noise in pain, feeling a pin poke me again.

"Ow," I mumble, quiet enough that the seamstresses only just heard, but to my surprise, Jameson did as well, a slightly alarmed look on his face from the sound of pain I had made.

"Are you okay?" Jameson asks with a concerned look on his face as I swallow another sip of my tea.

"Yeah, just pins. Pins hurt man!" I exclaim in slight pain as another pin pokes me which leads the sentence to end in a small yelp while my face screws up in pain before releasing just as fast as it had happened.

Jameson's face becomes slightly more alarmed as the seamstresses step back after adding a couple more pins and make me yelp a few more times from their rushed additions of pins to the dress and then declare they were finished.

They helped me out of the dress and into a robe in which I could go into the dressing room to change back into my own clothes and then take the dress to the back where I could hear one of them already start on the alterations as I got changed.

When I do finally step out of the changing room, I have my takeaway cup of tea along with my bag in one hand while being dressed in a light brown coloured mock-turtleneck, blue mom jeans and a classic tan trench coat.

"How are you doing?" Jameson asks me as I stick on my scarf.

"I'm doing okay. There's a slight spot of blood from where a couple of the pins poked me, but other than that, I'm fine," I tell him, cutting straight to the point, "Jamie, honestly, I'm fine. I was going to be poked at one point today while this was happening,"

Jameson's face then relaxes seeing mine.

"Alright then. Why don't we go and pay these lovely women for their time today and then we can go to your therapy appointment," Jameson pointedly asks with his eyebrows raised at me while I groan and then take a sip of my tea, not really wanting to go to therapy today.

But don't tell Dr Matthew that.

It's not as if he's scary, it's just that I'm not very fond of talking about my emotions for a couple of hours.

And Jameson knows this, but yet he still takes me to therapy.

I say it's madness, absolute madness.

Both of them, on the other hand, think otherwise.

Both of them think it's for my own good, which is perfectly reasonable since, well, it is.

The only other problem I have is the fact that they're both becoming friends. Like in my last session, when I left, they did a cool handshake which I thought was cheesy, but they told me it was cool.

So what I'm basically thinking is that I'm doomed.

I'm tugged out of my thoughts when Jameson tugs on my hand slightly and leads me towards the door, clearly showing he had paid, while I thanked the seamstress at the desk gratefully before we start walking down the street to Dr Matthew's office.

UPLOADED; 07/08/2023

WORDS; 1269