"By 18 weeks, your baby will now be the size of a bell paper. It will weigh about…"
A soft cry, barely audible to Killian, came from the bedroom. He immediately shot up from his position on the couch, throwing down the book he was reading and running to the bedroom. "Is everything alright, love?"
Emma was sitting in front of the floor-length mirror, sobbing into the hands covering her eyes. Her shirt was rolled up above her now quite-visible belly, and her jeans had clearly been thrown halfway across the room. She shook her head as her cries became more violent, and Killian immediately sat down next to her.
"What's wrong?" he asked, cautiously. While her mood swings had been far and few between, they seemed to hit her like a freight train when they appeared.
"I'm getting so fat!" she cried, looking up at Killian. Her eyes were puffy and pink and her cheeks were wet with her tears. "I can't get into my pants anymore, and my shirts barely fit!"
Killian stroked her back with his stump, using his hand to lace their fingers together. "Isn't that a good thing?" he asked, quietly. "I was actually just reading about the size of a baby at your stag—"
"Here we go with the book again!" Emma's words were sarcastic, yet came out in a sob. "What does the damn book tell you this time, Killian?"
Killian kept his mouth closed and watched her for signs if this was a real question or if she wanted him to stay silent. He settled for leaning his head against her shoulder and continued to stroke her back. Her breathing was still fast and shallow, and whimpers kept escaping her lips every few minutes. Their hands were getting wetter by the moment with her tears, but Killian refused to move them.
"I can't wear anything but yoga pants and your sweat pants anymore…" Emma said sheepishly, as if admitting something that she had promised to keep a secret.
"That's what happens, love. You know that," he replied in his quietest voice. "In all honesty, we should be concerned if this wasn't happening to you soon."
"What if I can't lose the weight? What if after I give birth, I stay like this? I'm not eighteen this time, it will be a lot harder."
"Don't you care much more that our baby is healthy?" he started rubbing his hand up and down her back.
Emma lifted her shirt a little bit and pointed to a faded line slightly off-color from her skin. "I found a stretch mark, Killian. That's not going to go away." The tears started falling down her face again, and it took every ounce of his energy to not shake her and tell her how daft she was being.
"Do you not even know how beautiful you are?" he asked, wiping away her tears.
"You have to say that, you're my husband and the father," her voice wavered as she picked at a fluff ball on the floor.
"That's true." Emma shot him a death glare, and he immediately regretted his joke. "I'm merely kidding, love. You should know that there isn't a single thing I don't love about you." He leaned down and kissed the stretch mark she just showed him. "That includes the bumps, bruises, and scars."
Killian stood up, walking over to the dresser and picked out a pair of his black sweatpants, bringing them over to Emma and giving them to her. "Let's go shopping for some pregnancy clothes tomorrow, alright? We could even ask your mother if she has anything from Neal."
Emma, still blotchy and puffy, nodded her head and took the pants from him, defeat still on her face. "But so help me if you try to put me in something frumpy…"
Killian put both arms up in defeat. "I promise, love. You will have the wardrobe of the princess you are." When Emma stood up and put on the pants, Killian leaned forward, pressing his chin against Emma's neck and whispering in her ear, "Or pirate."