The Hardest Part of Today is a Hangover.

The month passed and, before I knew it, I was in Erin and Adam’s spare room, Oli sitting on the bed behind me, massaging away at my tense muscles. I hadn’t been sleeping too well, resulting in my back muscles taking the form of Jacob’s Ladder—you know, the things you used to make with string when you were a kid.

Yesterday was my five month mark, and I was scared.
Scared about the fact that Oli was leaving in two days time, and scared that it was getting closer to this possibly life changing event. I couldn’t help but let my mind wander about, searching through all of the possibility of this that might happen; good and bad.

Oli would tell me that I was crazy, and that everything would be fine.
”Everything went fine for Erin and Adam,” he’d say. ”You’ll be just fine,” he’d continue, ending his good shot at convincing me with a sigh and a kiss.
That was every night, and my thoughts just continued to jumble about through my head.

But on a better now, I was fat. Fat as a fucking whale, but I couldn’t be happier. I was really starting to enjoy the fact that I could eat whenever I wanted, whatever I wanted, gain weight, and nobody would notice because I’m supposed to look far. It’s quite fantastic.
My thighs did look like Saturn’s rings, though.

[--]

“So, babe,” Oli started the next day as we were eating nachos on the couch, “Do you think that I’ll miss a lot while I’m gone?”

It was obviously a very heartfelt question—he didn’t want to miss a thing, apparently. He’d been shoving a camera in my face for the past months now, watching every little moment.

“I don’t think you will, babe,” I sighed. “You’re only going to be gone for four months, I mean—it’s not like you’re going to be gone for the whole pregnancy.”
That killed me to say, honestly. Four months.

Four months.

Fuck.

“I know, but it seems so long to me. I don’t want to miss shit, and I’m afraid I’m going to miss everything! These last few months are when everything starts developing and happening, and those are the only months I’m gone,” he mumbled, squirming in his seat.

I sighed, wrapping my arms around his side.
“I know, baby. It’s going to be a long few months, but don’t worry. Everything’s going to be alright,” I muttered against his shoulder, my sternness hiding the shake of my voice—I felt like I was going to cry, and this time it wasn’t the hormones.

[--]

He’s leaving in the morning, passed through my head about five million times as I laid in bed, his head resting on my shoulder and his hand on my belly, subconsciously making soft circles on my bare skin with his thumb.

This all felt so right, but it was about to be robbed of me.

Had I asked for this to happen? Had I made him do this to me?
No, that part of our lives were in the past; we were mature now, ready for this baby, yet I felt like we weren’t even close to being ready for him. I felt like this child would resent me as a mother and think of Oli as a neglectful father, and I didn’t want that. Neither for us nor him.

“Go to sleep, love,” Oli murmured against my shoulder sleepily.

My heart raced as I looked down at him, his eyes giving off his worried sense. He never liked me staying up late—he said it was bad for the baby, but we both knew that he was worried about me being without him for these next few months. He was just being paranoid.

“I can’t,” I confessed.

“Why, love? Just close your eyes,” he whispered, pulling me down to face him.
“It’s not brain surgery.”

I laughed and licked his nose.
“Tastes like soap,” I groaned, puckering my face.

“It better,” he laughed.
“I’ve taken about twenty showers today trying to get the feeling in my memory for the next few months—we all know that I’ll never get to shower with Curtis hogging the bathroom.”

I laughed awkwardly.
I didn’t want to talk about these next few months…at all.

“I’m sorry, love. I didn’t mean to talk about it,” he sighed.

I shook my head. “No, it’s fine. I just…I’m going to miss your, Oliver.”

He smiled. “I’m going to miss you too, Annabelle.”
Then he kissed my nose, a smile on his face; “Have you thought of names yet?”

“I like Theodore,” I commented.

Oli’s face twisted. “Theodore? My kid’s not going to be named Theodore Sykes!”

I laughed, shaking my head. “I’m only kidding, love. That’s my dad’s name—just, no.”

“Oh,” he laughed, “Well, I was thinking earlier that maybe we should name him after a friend or something…or maybe something completely original.”

“I like something original more,” I muttered.

“What’s up with you and always wanting to be original?”

“I’m just too good to copyright.”

He laughed a little, then yawned. “Go to sleep, love. We both need it.”

I yawned and snuggled into him closer. “Okay, but promise me that we’ll talk about baby names every day while you’re gone, okay?”

He smiled, “I promise, Anna.”

I fell asleep not long after that to the feeling of Oli’s hot breath on my nose, his tight grasp on my hand under the covers, and his soft touch on my bare stomach. I etched the feelings into my skin, trying to remember what it felt like—trying to remember his very touch.

Seems like we’re going to be doing a lot of remembering these next few months.