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Natasha was seven months pregnant with you when she finally started showing. She felt as though her body betrayed her. She could no longer blame her swollen abdomen on eating too much gluten or fit in her usual oversized hoodie. And on top of it all, she began waddling–which was probably the biggest give away.
Going out in public was a whole other problem for Natasha. She wanted to keep her pregnancy a secret for the sake of both you and her, but being spotted at an infant store blew up over the internet.
It was no longer a secret and suddenly everyone seemed to have an opinion about her and what kind of mother she'd be.
She never cared about random strangers commenting on her personal life, in fact, she agreed with most of them. But now that she was walking down the street–her protruding stomach visible to all–everything she heard was hurtful.
"If I were you I'd catch up on sleep now." A woman smiled, stopping her in her tracks. "You know, before the little one cries all night long."
"I have it under control, thanks." Natasha rolled her eyes before continuing down the street.
She wasn't planning on walking down the streets of New York City but it was her only way to get any kind of exercise. The team wouldn't even allow her to walk on the treadmill in the training room.
Ever since finding out she was pregnant, the team became very overprotective. They wouldn't allow her to leave their sight at first and banned her from missions and any type of exercise. They would even help her walk down the stairs and monitor everything she ate.
It took a lot of convincing just to walk down the street.
"My son is a handful, I hope your little one is easier to manage." Someone smiled. "What are you having?"
For the first time, it was a simple question that any new mother would love to hear. It wasn't advice, it wasn't judgement–just a question waiting to be answered.
"A girl." Natasha smiled, bringing her hand up to her swollen abdomen. She could feel a slight flutter inside as her hand made contact.
You were a very active baby. Always playing your mother's ribs like a xylophone and kicking her until she became nauseous–even in her third trimester of pregnancy. She could never hold her bladder for more than five minutes and ended up using the bathroom over fifteen times throughout the day.
Natasha was honestly at a loss for what you do in there but she couldn't wait to get you out. The amount of uncomfortableness she felt is absurd.
Before the woman could say anything else, a couple with their two kids came running up to her. Natasha gave the children a kind smile, kneeling down to sign a piece of paper they had in their hands.
