Months two and three

Week 10

I feel compelled to first commit the bits that put me off: Wife still terribly queasy, maybe more so than before... not to mention she scared the lights out of me when she perceived mild quantities of blood whilst in the loo. Must have been roughly three in the early hours of the morrow when she shook me awake in a frenzied state and I could have sworn death itself must have been cruising our chambers. And since I can't drive one of those blasted automated vehicles (won't deny I fear them like I fear death), she had to do so. The whole drive she flacked me on my bizarre misdoubt regarding these strange, noisy carts.

Gladly we were told by the good doctor that these things are fairly common in the early stages of gravidity, so Swan and I returned home silent but elated. She did apologize. I fail to see why. All the same, we slept till noon... when she rose to once again disgorge, rinse her mouth and hate me for ten seconds before falling back into my arms and loving me to near death.

Henry's already picked a name for our little one; Henry 2. Or Henrietta, should it be a wee lass. I said that I'd sooner lose my other hand than to commit an innocent child to the perils of mockery and humiliation by her peers by naming her Henrietta Jones. So the boy and I went into a half-witted debate over which names are the most absurd and his mother was about to emasculate the both of us. (I believe the boy and I picked Bellisarius and Ludmilla as officially the worst names in the history of the realms; at least I know what names are out of the question).

I don't want to saw Swan's always in a foul mood. She's always been testy; but I do feel for her plight. Must be strange, having a little person inside of you. Alas, I'll never know. Hence, I always understand when she snarls. She's a good-hearted woman... and beautiful. These past weeks she has emanated such radiance I can hardly believe my luck. There is now a small hardening of her belly which feels joyously fortuitous; she complains that she can no longer pull her garments up over her hips... she claims she's gone from Swan to Goose. Folly, really... to me she's still as beautiful as the day I met her... except, without a knife to my neck.

She and her mother have become very close. I am sincerely gratified by that. Both Emma and I come from childhoods that really include no certain father figure, so I am pleased that at least one of us has found that bond. Doesn't bother me; the Charmings have sort of adopted this pathetic former pirate and treat me well enough.

Week 11

Cravings...

Bloody cravings.

"Killian? Do you know how to make pancakes?"

That's right... at four in the bloody morning.

I turned a drowsy face and found my lovely lady Swan sitting on the bed, gnawing away at her lower lip and begging be for chocolate and blueberry pancakes. I honestly have no idea how those are done, so I sort of asked her. Picture me, barely clad, covered in dough at four in the morning, mixing batters, heating up pans, eggs, milk, melting butter... and I might or might not have ruined one of Emma's best pans while burning three pancakes in a row. But, my love had her pancakes.

I have indeed become a hero, haven't I?

I returned to bed, drawn but proud and now twice the man for having learned how to properly mix batter to the adequate point of frothiness needed to add fresh blueberries and specks of chocolate and make a decent stack of pancakes. Alas, she complained that I was still covered in flour and was soiling the blankets.

"Emma, darling? Eat your pancakes, love, and be content with them, for honestly, I don't give a damn about the sheets. Enjoy, my love."

Week 12

I can't remember how many times I denied being an emotional fellow.

Can't deny it now. Half the town and near all the staff in the hospital saw me weep like a babe after what Emma said would be "the deepest emotional shock of your life, Hook".

I truly have no clue how technology in this realm works but only a fool would deny that it's far more advanced than in our world, the enchanted Forest. Given, we get magic over there... or I don't but many folk do.

So, the adventure this week was for a medical and a thing called "ultrasound". I felt slightly uneased by my wife bearing herself almost to her breasts, but I am quite the old fashioned bloke here, so I just bit my tongue and tasted a little bile before the show began. A television; I am familiar with those now. And then, there was this odd looking machinery operated by whatever power seems to emanate from walls, whereas all things seem to plug into them. After a chat and some very cold jelly that made Emma squirm, the doctor used that odd machine atop her belly and lo and behold, something showed up on the television screen.

To me honest, I couldn't see a bloody thing; and I truly believe neither could Emma. It all looked like a large amount of black and white blotches projected onto a white sail... Until the doctor pointed out at a tiny, palpitating image. "That's your baby's heart", he said.

I could only see a foot past my nose after that. Tears clouded my vision. A heart! A beating heart!

All I had to do was tell someone or have Emma tell someone about it and the waterworks would operate themselves. Alas, when after the visitation we stopped for lunch at Granny's and Emma told half the clientele of our experience I practically melted into some sort of frothy goo of a man.

It went well. She kissed me at night and smiled at me. "You're a softie. Who knew..."