Martha Pendle was always looking forward to her wedding day; she could imagine the graceful ball gown sweeping around her as her lover finally announced to her mother that they were truly going to make this work, lifting her off her feet and carrying her over the threshold of their small flat and making a proclamation of their love.
Most of all, however, was her wanting to be a mother, and not in the least had she been agonizing over the frilly details of what their children would look like; who's nose would their son have, would their daughter have waves of curls and ringlets cascading down her shoulders, like herself? or was it to be her lovers hair, in tumbling waves of deepest brown. who's giggle? what smile? her mind hummed with timid anticipation as she did smile; her lover truly did have the quaintest giggle.
She was pouring over her page dainty thoughts of such things, and taking place were faceless little nobodies that could quite easily be their sweet little somebodies, and it was in this manner while drawing quietly and gaily murmuring sweet nothings to her small baby rump that she did feel its first kick, like a quiet nocking on her tummy, as if it just wanted to make its' presence overtly profound; honestly, as if the bump wasn't enough.
"Jon! Jon, do hurry up, he kicked, he kicked! Jon!" she called, splitting a grin and cooing at her stomach. "Sorry dear, he's always late." she patted her rump affectionately. "John, I swear to god-"
"Yes! Yes, I'm coming, don't move, don't move an inch!"
Around the corner from the kitchenette came a dashing man flailing about a polaroid camera like a brandished sword. Both individuals stopped at eachother; Mrs Pendle poised to get up from her crook in the wall, clutching her small tummy and still half sitting from her seat as sketches fluttered about around her and dropping to the floor; and Mr Pendle's hand still resting against the ghastly, ghost pink wall that the pair of them agreed would simply have to go, still in mid flight from racing to get to his dear wife in time; the other hand grasping a camera to make sure he didn't miss a thing.
Slowly they appraised eachother and upon noticing his camera Mrs Pendle smiled widely at his antics, as Mr Pendle turned to lean against the wall did raise the camera and slowly take his shot. As the picture fell to the ground, Mr Pendle leant down, picked it up and with an air of officially, both Mr and Mrs Pendle looked upon the enchanted frame in time: a humble Martha among fluttering sketches giggled and was smiling back at them, as she caressed her light baby bump and in doing so sat back down on the window-seat behind her.
"Jon, he'll be perfect."
"She, she'll be perfect."
"Honestly ~ I'm the mam, I get last say, Jon, he's a boy, there's no changing it."
"Daft beast, how would you know these things?"
"I'm a woman, Jon, we just know."
"Truly? Is this... one of those things?"
"Truly, Jon, truly." She pressed herself against his back and admired her frame in his picture, wondering about their little witch or wizard. She didn't know whether it was going to be a boy or a girl, but the banter with her silly muggle was worth his trepidation over it, for how wanting he was to be the father of a little girl. How honestly delighted he was when it turned out, as he would smugly put it; "I was right all along."