A big hand rubbed over your round belly, soothing you and the tiny being inside you. He was becoming more and more active, squirming around and kicking with his little feet. You were 25 weeks along now. Misha couldn't have been more excited and tickled if he wanted! Whenever he felt his son's little feet pressing against his hand through your tummy, he'd grin and laugh warmly. He wanted to hold him, with each passing day both of you grew more and more excited.
You readjusted yourself in his lap gently, inhaling softly as you put a hand on top of his. "We need to think about names, Misha. Did you ever pick anything out of that book for him?" You poke his hand as he tilts his head, recalling the book of baby names he had bought long ago when he first found out you were pregnant.
"Nyet. I have not. There are so many wonderful names. I can't seem to pick just one." You scrunched up your nose in thought, squinting your eyes in that adorable way that Misha absolutely loved. He smiles, nuzzling you gently as he couldn't hug you tightly with you carrying. "You are so cute making that face, мать медведь. We will choose name for him soon enough. There are other things we need to discuss as well."
You grin at him, this was one of the greatest things to ever happen between you two. Aside from you two being happily married for 2 years straight now. You both had a lovely house together, everything was stable. Misha had already built a crib for the baby. Sniper, Medic and Scout pitched in, helping paint the baby's bedroom.
You loved the man and your extended family of mercenaries. They were all you could have ever asked for, plus more. You wanted to stay in Misha's lap and just be lazy for the rest of the day. Unfortunately, the tot inside you had other plans. Your stomach grumbles and you snort humorously.
"I think he's hungry. I'm gonna go get some apple juice and a sandwich. You want one, lyubov'?" You lean up, placing your weight as far back as possible so hopefully you could propel yourself forward and get up. Your dear husband is a worry wart though, and tries to stop you.
"Nyet! I will fix you something. You do not need to be on feet in kitchen, or doing anything that can stress you or leetle one out." You roll your eyes, managing to get your feet under yourself, smacking his hands in protest.
"Misha. I'm going to go stand in the kitchen for about 5 minutes to fix me and you a sandwich and get me some apple juice. Then I'm going to come back and sit on your lap and eat while we watch TV. You're not going to stop me." He pouts, silvery-blue eyes going into puppydog status as he begrudgingly lets you go.
"I can not stop you? At all?" You shake your head, crossing your arms. "Fine... Please be careful. Kitchen floor can be slippery." He gets up, helping you to stand. You brush your clothes off delicately, looking over the soft clothing. Since you were bigger now you had to wear stretchy clothes with a pregnancy band on the waist or sweatpants, and loose tops. You were currently wearing one of Misha's old shirts. It hung off your shoulders, and flowed around your knees like a soft, homey dress.
Dark grey pregnancy leggings underneath kept your modesty and made so all you had to do was plunk on some shoes should you have to run out and grab something from the store. It was really comfy. You had a slight waddle, not much of one though. You make your way to the kitchen, humming quietly as you grab the loaf of bread. "Honey? Do you want white bread?" You get out two plates, pulling some spare inrediants and condiments from the fridge.
"Da. Do not like all that fancy stuff." You click your tongue. Your husband was a gigantic, gun-loving mercenary. And he didn't like wheat or pumpernickel bread. You set to making your hubby the biggest, yummiest sandvich. Making yourself a much smaller one with your favorite meats and add-ons. Once that's through, you grab a few napkins, put the sandwiches on the plates and grab yourself a bottle of apple juice from the fridge.
Putting the cap end of the apple juice between your teeth and the napkins on top of one of the plates you walk back to the living room, slowly to ensure you didn't drop or spill anything. Misha looks less then pleased when he sees you, getting up and moving over to grab his plate, setting it down on the coffee table before giving you a look. "Глупый." He shakes his head as you simply grin and chirp around the bottle in your mouth.
"Hee, hee~" You take the bottle from your teeth, setting it and your sandwich on the coffee table next to his. Pulling him to sit on the couch before piling up in his lap, taking the remote control and turning the TV on. Retrieving your food and drink from the coffee table, he reaches for a fluffy throw, covering up your lap before taking his sandwich from you.
You snuggle down into his lap, nibbling on your sandwich. This was great, this was the nirvana people often spoke of. Or it was yours at least. "Спасибо, leetle sunshine. Is good sandvich. Better than what I could ever make~" You simply smile, kissing his jaw happily. The evening is spent with you in his lap, talking and watching TV while he rubbed your belly, giving your child love and attention as well.