Disclaimer: I don't own anything. It all belongs to J. K. Rowling. Well, except the part that me and Stacy thought up. She's an amazing beta reader, and her e-mail's silenceofthemind@hotmail.com if anyone needs one.

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Chapter 5: 3 Months

I thought I'd dodged it. I thought I was one of the lucky ones. But, suddenly, in the beginning of my third month, I found myself in the position that all soon-to-be-mothers fear; in the bathroom, bending over the toilet.

That's right, I had morning sickness. It woke me up around one in the morning, staying true to it's name. Once I had thrown up everything that was in my stomach, I was free to go back to bed. But I kept waking every few hours, sweaty and with a stomachache. It was hell.

I finally got out of bed around ten. I got dressed, and for a really sad reason. Now that I was aware that I liked Harry, I didn't want him to see me looking horrible in my nightgown. So, after picking out an outfit and putting on some makeup, I looked in the mirror to double check.

I looked like a troll... or any other creature that isn't exactly easy on the eyes. My hair was too bright, and I had too many freckles. Not to mention, my stomach was really starting to grow. From the side, I didn't look pregnant, I looked fat. And you could even see my stomach poking out from under my shirt. The only plus was that my boobs were a little bigger.

The pants I was wearing were about to burst. I had to lie down on the bed to button them. When I went downstairs, my mother seemed to notice the same thing.

"We need to go shopping for some maternity clothes." She said, looking at me from over her shoulder as she stood by the stove.

I just nodded, taking a seat next to Hermione and trying not to look at Harry. This, of course, was a loosing battle. I glanced up to see him smiling at me. I blushed crimson and smiled back. I could see Fred gagging himself out of the corner of my eye, and Hermione was courteous enough to move the butter dish to the other end of the table and out of my reach. We wouldn't want another elbow-in-the-butter-dish episode like before.

Just when everything was fine and peachy, my mother just had to set down a plate in front of me, full of greasy bacon and overly buttered toast. I could feel my stomach protest, and had to cover my mouth just to make sure nothing came out. The smell was just too much.

"Oh, that's right, your pregnant." Mum said lightly, like it was something that was easily forgotten. "Morning sickness. Right. Whoops."

Glad I'm so well taken care of.

~*~*~*~

"Oh, this is lovely." Mum said, holding up a very large, pink shirt with random green lines all over it. I cringed at the sight of it.

After breakfast (where I had thrown up more then I'd eaten), mum took me shopping for maternity clothes. Unfortunately, she's not one to ask for style tips.

"Do you two need any help?" A sickeningly sweet sales woman asked. She smiled at us, showing every white, even tooth in her mouth and reminding me of a certain Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

"Yes, we're looking for some maternity shirts and pants." Mum said.

"Well, first we'll need your measurements." The sales women said, looking right at my mother and acting like I was just another manikin. "How far along are you?"

Mum opened her mouth to respond, when it hit her. The saleswomen was talking to her. She thought that mum was the pregnant one.

Oh Lord, this wasn't going to go over well. Small, furry animals were scurrying into their holes, mothers were locking their children inside, streets were empty and everything was silent. It was like the end of the world.

My mother's face grew very red and she was shaking as if she were about to explode. And then she did.

"Excuse me?" She said loudly. The sales women looked very startled. "YOU LITTLE MOTHER F-" (Now you know where Ron gets it from).

"Thank you for your help." I said quickly, grabbing my mother's arm and pulling her out of the store. Once we were outside, she seemed to calm down a little.

"Really, the nerve of that woman." Mum muttered. I just rolled my eyes and lead her into another store.

~*~Half an Hour Later~*~

I looked through the clothing racks, trying to find something that was actually flattering, which was hard to do in a maternity store. Mum was following close behind me.

"Well, you'll need a few button down shirts that are loose fitting." Mum said, either talking to herself or one of her invisible friends. But I finally concluded that she was directing this comment at me.

"What do you mean?" I asked, looking at a flowing yellow shirt with disgust.

"For after you have the baby. When you're breastfeeding." Mum said, grabbing a violently pink shirt and draping it over her arm.

"I'm not going to breastfeed." I said simply, grabbing that horrible shirt off of her arm and hanging it back up.

"What?" Mum asked sharply. I immediately stopped looking through the clothes and glanced up at her. She was glaring, once again.

"Well, I-I just don't think it's all that necessary-" I stuttered.

"Of COURSE it's necessary!" Mum yelled, causing people to look at us strangely. "There are tests that *prove* that breastfed babies are smarter!" I scoffed at how ridiculous that sounded, but mum acted like she didn't hear me. "Something about the nutrients in the milk affecting the brain cells. And with genes like yours, this child will need all the brain cells it can get."

Ouch.

"Mum, can we talk about this later?" I asked desperately, begging that she wouldn't make a scene. She nodded reluctantly, muttered a few things to herself, and we resumed shopping in silence.

That is, until she felt the need to butt into my personal life.

"So, have you talked to Devon yet?" Mum asked with forced casualty.

"He refuses to talk to me, remember?" I asked a bit acidly.

"You really should get a hold of him." Mum said thoughtfully.

As if it was that easy. She made it sound like Devon was on vacation and I just didn't know when he was coming back home. This was much more difficult. He hated me, I hated him, and yet, we were having a child.

I told my mother this, and she just looked at me doubtfully.

"You don't hate him." Mum said confidently. "You two are just having problems."

"He's the one with problems." I muttered like a five year old. "He won't even accept that the baby's his. He's being such an ass about it too."

"Language." Mum warned half-heartedly. "But men can be like that."

"Not all men are so immature." I said, my mind switching quickly to Harry. I mentally cursed myself for thinking about him, but knew that it was pointless to try not to. "Some guys don't run in the other direction when they find out that I'm pregnant."

Mum smiled warmly at me, and I knew that she knew who I was thinking of. I blushed, and quickly changed the topic to clothes.

~*~*~*~

"Here Ginny, dear. Try these on." Mum said, dropping some clothes over the top of my dressing room door. I pulled a shirt on over my head and examined the pants my mother had just thrown at me.

I have to say, I'd never seen such an ugly pair of pants in my life. Maybe it's just because I'm picky, but I truly felt like vomiting at the sight of them. And then, picturing myself in them, that made me want to die. They were a stretchy, cheap spandex material and had a kind of pouch in the front where your stomach went.

"I'm not wearing these!" I called to my mum.

"And why not? They're meant for people who are pregnant." Mum called back in an annoyed voice.

"Oh really?" I said sarcastically. "So *that's* what they're doing in a maternity store."

I pulled on the clothes I'd come in with and walked out of the dressing room, holding the dreaded pants as far away from myself as possible. I handed them to mum and shook my head.

"Everyone wears these pants when they're pregnant." Mum said angrily, shoving the clothing back into my hands.

"Only people who don't have any dignity." I scoffed.

"Since when did you get so spoiled?" Mum hissed angrily. "Would you rather I buy you a nice pair of Gucci pants embroidered with diamonds?" she said sarcastically.

"Yes, that would be lovely, thank you." I said seriously, holding my head high. Mum grabbed the pants and threw them at my head.

"I don't understand what you think is wrong with these pants. I wore them when I was pregnant." Mum said.

"Which time?" I asked innocently. Mum glared. "And, besides, you were so much *older* then me."

Bad move. Never tell a woman that she's old. As a woman, I should have known this. But I blame this laps of judgment on the pregnancy. It's interfered with my Common Sense. So I tried, desperately, to talk my way out of getting yelled at like that poor sales lady.

"And, when I say older, I mean wiser." I said quickly. My mother continued to glare at me.

"We're buying these." She said simply, holding up the pants with that horrible pouch around the stomach.

"No!" I yelled, drawing more attention to myself then intended. "Mum, I'll look like a kangaroo."

"Rubbish." Mum muttered, heading toward the check out.

"Please mum! Don't make me wear those!" I said desperately. "I'll breastfeed the baby!"

Mum stopped where she was and turned around toward me slowly.

"I'll wear sweatpants instead. And the baby will be breastfed and smart and go to Harvard or Oxford and get straight A's and grow up to be a brain surgeon or a rocket scientist." I pleaded.

After a few moments of consideration, mum said, "And you can't take drugs-"

"Consider it done."

"-when you're giving birth." She finished.

Now it was my turn to consider this. No drugs? That wouldn't be easy. I'd heard all of those horrible stories about how excruciating the pain is. And I can only imagine how it would feel to push a watermelon out of my ass. I mean, all the screaming and sweating and pushing... but these pants were beyond horrible. If Harry ever saw me in them, I'd have to Avada Kedavra myself.

"Fine." I said with defeat. Mum smiled and I began to wonder if a mother should get this much joy out of black mailing their children. Definitely a situation that will result in therapy.

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Okay, I admit that I'm a procrastinator. So that's my excuse for not thanking everyone. I wanted to write a thank you to everyone, but it's 11 on Friday, and I chose Friday as my weekly deadline. So then I tried to post it, but the site was down because they were checking for bugs. So I'm posting it now. I promise to thank EVERYONE next time.

ani-b: Thank you so much! I'm so happy that people take the time out of their day to read my stories. It really makes my week of finals better.

zeldagrl436: here thanks thanks thanks thanks

Eric2: heehee, i'm so glad SOMEONE finds me funny. Everyone at school thinks i'm stupid, but your compliments really give me an ego-boost. Thanks so much!

Kelei: Hermione seemed out of character? I've been getting that comment alot. I suppose she is. She probably would have been more supportive of Ginny or whatever, but i was just doing it all for laughs. Thanks for bringing it to my attention tho, i'll try to make her more of the book-worm Hermione that we all know and love.

Swishy Willow Wand: wow, cool name. I really like it. Very Harry Potter- ish. Anyways, thanks. Oh, and just so you arent checking and going 'grr! she didnt update!', i update every Friday. (with the exception of a real emergency like i had last week where i ran my car into a wall.)

Red-Tears: I know the feeling when your computers being a total spaz, so no worries... a frying pan? How very cartoonish of you. I wont sue. Who could sue someone who is clever enough to us a cooking aplience as a weapon?

Voldie On Varsity Track: Oh my gosh, when i first read your name, i almost died laughing. Trying to picture He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named in a mesh shorts, a tank top, and those funny little sweat bands is just too much. *wipes tear from eye* thank you for making me laugh! Oh, and also thanks for reading and reviewing!

Fresh-AngelBabe: Thank you!

Pinky: Thanks, i'm so glad the inner thoughts were funny. It's the first time i've written in first person, and i can't tell you how many times i just suddenly switched to third person. As un-entertaining as it sounds, it was a real pain in the ass.

little-lost-one: I did! Heehee, hope you liked it.

dolphingirl79: I hope you liked this chapter just as much as you liked the last one. Maybe more?

Draco-FutureBF: heehee, i like your name. Very cute... yea it's gonna be a harry/ginny story. Oh, and about that part where ginny's brothers beat the shit out of Deavon, you have no idea how much i wanna write that. So you might just get it.

the counter: .......................... huh?

Strayc@t: ~*&^%$#@!HAPPY BIRTHDAY~!@#$%^&*

heehee, i write older then i am, huh? That's so cool! Maybe if i write to a bar, i can get alcohol! (Just kidding) 20 is not old. I wish i was 20. That'd mean i'd be in London right not and not have to take another look at all of the annoying and immature boys at my school. So, believe me, you're not old, your the PERFECT age.

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