This is going to be a multi-chapter fic about Brittany and Santana getting pregnant and dealing with the unholy terror of wild mood swings, unpredictable sex drive, food cravings, jealousy, and body changes. This story is dedicated to my friend Sloane aka ruthlessloane on tumblr because 95% of what happens in this is her fault. I told her to write it herself but apparently she "doesn't do that". So with that established, I hope you enjoy the story.
Part One –Compromises
Santana knew the day would come. But she didn't know it would come quite so soon.
She and Brittany had done very well for themselves. They had been inseparable after high school. They survived higher education and got great, fulfilling jobs that they loved. Santana became a successful lawyer and Brittany toured as a backup dancer for a while before settling down and starting her own dance school. They moved from their cramped apartment to a slightly roomier one, and then finally to their spacious two storey home. Then, after years of pressure from their families, they finally got married. They were happy.
But the happiness can only last so long before it becomes restless, seeking to become bolstered by something new, something more.
So, they had already checked off "Love", "Marriage" and "Successful careers" off the list that made up the American dream. It didn't take a genius to figure out what the next step on the list was. Santana certainly didn't have to guess what step Brittany was focusing on when she noticed the accumulation of parenting magazines and baby books on her coffee table one day.
Brittany was immersed in the pile, staring at an image of a delicate, pink baby dressed in a white, frilly monstrosity. She had a glazed-over look on her face that she usually reserved for kittens and ducks. In that moment Santana froze in a mild panic. The fear of the unknown came over her in a way that she hadn't experienced for years, since a moment of cold feet before her wedding.
The blonde didn't notice her at first, but then a nervous twitch gave her away. Her wife looked up at her from the picture with a gaping mouth and flushed face that shouldn't have been nearly as endearing as Santana was finding it. The brunette cracked a smile and cautiously stepped forward.
"Hey baby," she said, without thinking.
Brittany blinked. The word baby seemed to ricochet through her system. Her eyes lit up brightly.
"Baby," she said with conviction.
"Yes?" Santana ventured, hoping this was just Brittany's term of endearment for her.
The blonde shook her head.
"No. Baby," She held up the picture, "We should have a baby."
No such luck.
Ohgodohgodohgod.
"You know, those things take time to make. You can't just have one right away," she tried to deter the girl.
Maybe this was just a passing fancy. Like the time Brittany thought she needed a potbellied pig until she decided that the effort of keeping it away from Quinn when she visited would be too much (Quinn still retained her almost religious devotion to bacon). Santana could have sworn that they still had a couple years to go until they were ready to have the baby conversation. Apparently Brittany had other plans.
"I know that. It takes nine months. But first you have to wait until you're ovulating, and it might take a bit to actually get pregnant. I read all about it in this book."
Someone had actually written a book entitled "So you want to make lady babies? A guide for the Sapphically inclined". It was lengthy too. The brunette sighed and tossed it carelessly onto the table. She ignored the slight glare Brittany threw her way when she caught the action. Setting down her briefcase, she sat down on the couch and snaked an arm around her wife's waist. Brittany, however, didn't want comfort, she wanted confirmation.
"So can we? Can we have a baby? I really want one."
She had apparently decided that the way she was most likely to gain a "yes" out of Santana was by straddling the girl's waist and pressing their forms intimately together. It was a good ploy, but the word "baby" broke through the haze of sex muddling Santana's mind about as well as a cold shower would. So, with sober mind, she focused on the blonde's eyes, set her jaw, and responded with a, "We'll see."
She thought it was a good response. It was noncommittal. She wasn't saying yes but she wasn't engulfing Brittany's dream in flames either. It was a perfect non-response.
Her wife seemed to interpret it slightly differently, however. She let out a shriek and started peppering Santana's face with kisses. In midst of the attack, the brunette desperately tried to tell her that she didn't say yes, that they would have to talk about it more, but the girl just moved from placing soft pecks to dragging hot, open mouthed kisses across Santana's neck. Suddenly she couldn't quite recall what objections she might have at the moment as a greater need presented itself to her.
But the next day she most certainly remembered. Then came the worrying. And later the panicking.
She paced her study and asked herself who in their right mind would think that she would make a good parent? She certainly didn't have the best track record for being warm and nurturing. In fact, she was probably the opposite of what a mother should be. But when she tried explaining all this to Brittany while making dinner, the girl didn't even pause from chopping the carrots.
"Babe, you were mean in high school. A lot of things have changed since then. You're not hiding anything anymore so there's no real reason for you to be angry. And when's the last time you said something mean to the ones you love?"
She said "the ones you love" as though there was someone else in this world that Santana could love as much as her wife. There wasn't, not even close. But if they went ahead with this, there would be. She would have a son or daughter for her to protect and love. And just the thought of harming them with the barbs that she would regularly use in high school wrenched her chest with pain.
Dear God, she was actually feeling bad about something she hasn't even done to someone that didn't even exist yet. She's become a sap.
Maybe she really was ready to have a kid.
But to be sure she'd have to ask an objective observer.
"Dude! You should totally make me the kid's godfather. I watched those movies like a million times."
Unfortunately, she found out that Puck was the opposite of this.
Santana gave him a withering look, but that didn't seem to tone down his enthusiasm.
"No seriously. I've gotten it in with both of the kid's moms, I deserve some kind of title. I want to be the godfather, it sounds awesome. None of this 'Uncle Puck' shit," he crossed his arms over his chest and nodded, satisfied with his decision.
"You're supposed to be helping me make a decision here. If you can't even pay attention enough to give me an opinion, why in the hell would I trust you with my kid? Who, by the way, doesn't even exist yet," the girl told him icily.
The teenage boy trapped in a man's body dropped his arms and looked cowed for a moment. Then he caught onto her wording.
"Yet, huh?"
She shook her head and took another swig of her beer. Why was Puck her closest guy friend again? Sometimes she really had to wonder.
"Yet or maybe won't ever exist, I don't know. Brittany's trying to convince me that I'd make a good mom but I'm not so sure. Maybe she's willing to forget about what a bitch I am sometimes if she gets a kid out of it," she shrugged.
Puck threw her a disbelieving look and she groaned and washed a hand over her face.
"Shit, no that's not right. She wouldn't do that."
He grunted in agreement. He figured that Santana needed to do some talking and it was best not to interrupt.
"But sometimes I think she just sees the good in me. But I've got bad too. Plenty of bad. And, as much as I'd try with this kid, the bad might come out and scar them for life or give them issues or something. Them they'd hate me and have to spend thousands of dollars on therapy," she couldn't help but make the scenario bleaker and bleaker until she had her head buried in her hands, in absolute dismay.
"Quit being such a pussy."
At that she lifted her head up to look at a stern-looking Puck, snapping out of her funk.
"What did you just call me?" the bitchiness came out automatically out of shock.
He narrowed his eyes and looked down at her disdainfully.
"You heard me. You're being a coward. No one's a perfect parent. All you can do is try your goddamn best. I'm not the most stand-up guy out there but you'd better believe that if I had the money to support Beth in high school I would have been an amazing dad," he got a wistful, pained look on his face and Santana immediately felt like the biggest jerk in the world.
"Puck, I'm-" she started, but he wouldn't let her go on with whatever consolatory words she was planning to use.
"Dirty diapers, bedtime stories, ballet rehearsals or soccer games. I would have done it all and not worried whether the 'bad' me was coming out. That's just some bullshit excuse," He spat.
At that, Santana seemed to deflate. She had a hard time looking him in the eyes, but agreed with a small "You're right." She was just so down on herself it was almost pitiable. Puck hadn't wanted to discourage her, he just wanted to get her ass in gear. He eased up on the glare and gave her a small smile.
"Come on Santana. You'll be that cool mom that every kid wishes they could have. And you think that you could be a bad mom when you've got a mini-Brittany running around? I would think that that kid would be lucky."
He was saying the right things it seemed because Santana was meeting his eyes with a hopeful gaze. Good thing too, because it was all true.
"You'll protect your child with everything you have and even though you might not say it as much as Brittany will, the kid's going to know you love them. I swear, a son or daughter of yours and Brittany is going to grow up to be the most spoiled, self-confident, happy, and loved person in the world," he finished, laughing slightly.
Then, feeling awkward with the atypical outpouring of emotions, he sniffed loudly and then took a long swig of beer, which he nearly choked on when Santana uncharacteristically engulfed him in a hug.
"You almost made me spill my beer."
"Good. It's disgusting. If you expect me to consider you in the running to be the baby's godfather you'd better stop handing me cheap-ass beer when I come over to hang out."
Her decision on the matter made, the next day she sat Brittany down on their couch and thought of where to start.
"So… how is this baby thing going to work? Are we going to a sperm bank or getting it from someone we know?"
Santana had never seen such a big grin on her wife's face before. She was practically glowing with excitement and Santana thought fondly about how beautiful the blonde would be pregnant.
"I think from a sperm bank because I don't know who we'd ask," it was obvious that Brittany was restraining herself from showing too much enthusiasm, lest she scare the baby discussion away.
"I agree. If we ask Finn, Puck, or Sam, where basically guaranteed a dumb, nerdy baby, possibly with weird nipples."
"What about Art-"
"NO. If you think I'm going to let your ex-boyfriend impregnate you, you've got another thing coming."
The girl huffed and crossed her arms defensively. How insensitive of Brittany to even mention Wheels as though he was a real option. Brittany wasn't even looking apologetic, just confused.
"Wait, who said I was the one getting pregnant?"
Now Santana was the one who was confused.
"Didn't you want to be the one who gets to shoot out a 7 pound bundle of joy?"
That was, apparently the wrong thing to say. Brittany's normally bright disposition immediately turned dark.
"You just assumed I was going to carry the baby. I'm not going to be your stay at home wife that is subserviette to you and always takes on the role of mother just because I'm not as tough as you are. This is supposed to be an equal partnership."
Brittany's glare could peel paint. Santana shrunk back into the couch in retreat.
"Subservient," Santana corrected in a daze.
"Right. Rachel taught me that one," Brittany nodded sharply, standing her ground.
At least she knew who to blame for this situation. Maybe with a combination of guilt tripping and lies she could convince Rachel to become their surrogate. Santana could say that due to her own extreme gayness her uterus rejects sperm, preventing her from becoming pregnant. Yeah, that could work. Berry would be gullible enough to believe it.
But then again, Brittany wouldn't want someone else experiencing all the "magic" of pregnancy for them.
The blonde was now looking at her as though she expected an answer and Santana felt the catch of panic in her chest. This wasn't happening. Maybe she could weasel her way out of this.
"But you would be so beautiful pregnant! You'd be even more gorgeous than you already are," She reasoned.
"You'd be beautiful too, it's called pregnant woman's glow. Everyone has it," her wife countered.
"And you would think about the baby's wellbeing more than I would. I can imagine you reading and singing to the baby while pregnant. When it comes to me, I'm sure the baby is more likely to hear the sound of some random porno playing than me singing to it."
Brittany shrugged.
"They have to learn about sex sometime."
"But I feel that you would get your pre-pregnancy body back quicker than I would. What if I have the baby and never get my hot body back and then you don't want to have sex with me because my vagina is a gaping cavern? And then you'll take the baby and leave me with your stupid cat."
And now she was crying, great. It didn't take much these days to set her off. She wiped the tears off her cheeks with the back of her hand and avoided all eye contact. Brittany, not one to be ignored, climbed onto her lap and clasped Santana's head in her two hands.
"Look at me, honey. None of that is going to happen. I will always want you and love you. Until you tell me to stop. And even then I probably wouldn't listen," the goofy grin on the blonde's face was irresistible. Santana felt her mouth tug up into a smile.
"If you carry our child, I promise to love you and support you with everything I have. I will take care of you, go for midnight snack runs, and give you foot massages."
That did sound nice. Brittany was so considerate.
"And, of course, I'll give you all the sex you want. Anytime, however many times, whenever you want. It'll be awesome."
Brittany would later regret this last promise but for now she relished the instant look of arousal on her wife's face. Hands softly cupped her ass and she bit her lip, teasingly.
"Really?" Santana murmured in wonder and want.
"Well, I hear that pregnant women get really horny. I'm prepared to spend as much time under the covers as is needed."
"Or in the shower?" Santana offered.
"On the kitchen counter?" The blonde said, smirking.
"Up against the wall?"
"Wherever you want," Brittany trailed her fingers up and down Santana's chest and neck teasingly, enough to feel that her pulse was going crazy.
Santana took the image of her woman in. The more the blonde talked, saying she'd love and protect her, the more acutely Santana felt it. She wanted to have Brittany's baby. Even if her vagina would never be the same, she wanted to create an embodiment of their love for one another. And the promise of more sex than she could handle certainly helped too. She pressed her hands to Brittany's waist and swallowed with some difficulty.
"So, I know you're supposed to wait until you have the sperm to try to impregnate me but… we could always use the practice, right?" She watched Brittany's face go from neutral to jubilant in mere seconds.
The next thing she knew, Brittany leapt off of her and picked her up, holding her bridal style in her arms before she could so much as let out a surprised squeak.
"Brittany!"
The girl didn't respond right away, but planted a kiss solidly on the brunette's mouth, stopping any protests she might have. Breathless, Santana could only look up at her wife's determined face.
"You better prepare yourself, because I'm going to give you the once-a-year orgasm. Hope you don't have anything to do tomorrow because you're not going to be able to leave the bed."
Oh sweet Jesus. The infamous once-a-year orgasm, the one that's so good that you can only have it once a year. Or else too many work days would be missed in favour of lying in a post-sex haze. But she was getting it tonight. And it wasn't even their anniversary.
"My body is ready," Santana murmured.
"We'll see babe, we'll see."
The next day they set up an appointment with their doctor to discuss getting pregnant (Well, Brittany set it up while Santana stayed in bed, in a sweet stupor). Little did they know what they were getting into. Brittany would soon find out that hell hath no fury like a pregnant Santana scorned. Whether said scorn is real or imagined. But for now they were blissfully happy in their blissful ignorance.