The 51st President ✓(Book Four)

Chapter Nine

There's a certain innocence to people when they're sleeping. They don't have any signs of their lives on their faces, looking like they've been sheltered with the perfect diet and daily routine as long as they've been alive. He looks ten years younger, the smile just bringing his personality out even further.

He isn't a snorer, thank god- or I'd probably punch him. His chest rises by a few inches every few seconds, no sound escaping his lips. I sit up, my mind wandering back to the events of the past few weeks. We did pretty good at just being colleagues and friends for a little while there- but like most things it didn't last. With finding out I was pregnant, less than twelve hours ago- everything changed.

I'd never envisioned myself as a mother until that moment. When I'd finally processed everything, I couldn't see myself as anything else. You can always squeeze one extra thing into your day, after all. Even now, when I think I'm done, there's almost always something else. Yesterday was an exception because of the fainting and state of the union. I'll film a speech remotely, later today so the country can still get its updates.

I've gotten about seven hours of sleep- more than the past week's nights combined. Though I'll probably still get yelled at by the doctors when they read my chip on Saturday, I'm satisfied.

  I still haven't seen the videos. I don't intend to, unless a reporter pops them up without warning during an interview. I glance down at my sleepwear- a loose t shirt and sweatpants, then grimace. I can't leave the residence like this, but we have a meeting in about....ten minutes. Shit.

  I lightly poke Ethan. When his eyes don't move, I go on to shaking, which rouses him immediately. I watch him as he gets up, unaware of his surroundings, still confused from grogginess. Then he finally realizes he isn't sleeping, and his eyes widen.

  "I didn't dream the...pregnancy thing?" He asks. I shake my head in response.

  "We should probably get going. They might've started early...like always." I hold onto my bedside table for balance as I rise, grab a brand new pantsuit from the back of a chair, and begin to strip. There's nothing about my body he hasn't seen yet. I turn sideways in my full length mirror, trying to observe any noticeable change.

  Though I know it's impossible to show this early, I can't help myself. How long will it be, for me? With my mothers second pregnancy, she started showing around ten weeks. Her mother commented on the weight gain, figuring things out before she'd even decided to tell people.

I get why one would wait. The first trimester is the most risky, or so I've heard. I have no idea what the actual statistics are- and I refuse to freak myself out by looking them up.

I continue getting dressed. For now, the pantsuit hugs my body perfectly- but what will happen with my clothes? Will designers start sending in maternity wear, or will the pieces I receive during my pregnancy be fitted?

  These are things that can be worked out in a matter of minutes, things I do not have time for right now. So instead of pondering any longer, I snap the pants into place, turning around. Ethan's already done and waiting on me.

  He stands in the doorway, wearing the same clothes from yesterday. I don't exactly get a lot of "male" outfits. But now that I think about it, there are a few unisex button ups and jeans in there- so I grab his hand and drag him towards my closet. He looks around in amazement. This isn't something people see everyday, though most get the sense that the president's wardrobe is huge, since we're rarely seen wearing the same thing.

  My eyes dart straight towards the unisex rack, at the same time my hand lunges forward to grab the shirt. I hand it to him and he gives a silent thanks. Nobody wants to show up to the White House in the same clothes you wore yesterday, especially if you're coming from the residence. I couldn't think of anything more socially suicidal if I tried.