Through Me (The Flood)

Miss them

"You're thinkin' about those chips."

"Yeah." Your lower lip trembles, and tears start to well on your waterline. Shit.

"No, no sweetheart, it's okay, it's okay." He pulls you close, smoothing a hand over your belly while he whispers against your temple, your tears coming faster, shoulders starting to shake. "I know, I know."

"I just r-really want th-them."

"Oh mama, I know. I'm sorry." It's five o'clock in the morning. The chip shop won't be open until noon, but you've been up for over an hour, unable to get comfortable in the bed, tossing and turning and groaning as the baby kicks your organs around. You're miserable, and he hates it.

It's a new experience for him. He wasn't with you when you were pregnant with Orion, and you were in a coma for the last month and change of your pregnancy with Nix. So far, he's simultaneously unimpressed with the havoc this last baby is wreaking on your body, while being endlessly impressed by you, though that's a given constant. He loves his daughter, but he wishes she'd give you a bit of a break. "As soon as they open I'll go out and get you some, alright?" He's probably keeping the chip shop in town in business at this point. Every time he goes he has to buy enough for everyone, otherwise the kids will try to eat as many of his as they can, and then move onto yours. And Orion never stops eating.

"With the vinegar." You sniffle and demand, knowing you don't need to insist on anything, not really. He gives you everything you want. He presses his lips to your forehead and works his fingers into your hips, kneading the sore muscle and bone there and then inward, trying to alleviate some of the pain and pressure in your lower back.

"No more babies." You swore at him two weeks ago as you climbed the stairs to your doctor's appointment, out of breath by the time you reached the top.

"No more babies." He agreed with a wince.

"I know mama. With the vinegar."