~Close your eyes and picture the warmth of the sun on your skin... that's how being loved by her felt~
Harry Styles is a nepotism baby turned new father, left clueless with a newborn baby to raise, he is overwhelmed and under pressure. Matters are...
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Five years ago, I was in the hospital having my stomach cut open and yanked apart by a whole room of doctors, nurses, midwives and a whole other mirage of medical staff who helped to bring the single two best things into my life.
Rory came first, her screams loud and throaty as they flooded the room.
She has always been a loud little fighter.
Nola came along four minutes later, her entrance into the world silent and muted which spread panic through me and made my blood run instantly cold.
I remember my mom stroking my hair back rhythmically while trying to console me and convince me that it was okay. She repeated over and over that the doctors were trying to get her alert but for a new mom who had spent the last eight and a half months secretly resenting their own unborn children, I felt like somehow I had inadvertently caused this.
It's weird because that day in the operating theatre felt like an entire lifetime ago but it was only five years ago.
Rolling over, I feel a small hand press into the side of my face as I snuggle closer to what I think is Harry. Feathering my eyes open, I get used to the light bursting through the room as I blink to force away the sleep still cursing me.
"Say good morning, mumma," Harry's honeyed voice drifts to my ears as I snap my eyes shut before lightly opening them again. "Say, good morning, mumma!" He coos again, putting on a baby voice that is squeaky and high pitched.
It is then that I realise Amos is laying on the mattress in between us with his sea blue eyes staring at me as his head is turned to the side.
"Mmm," I stretch my arms out, placing my hand on his belly and rubbing my thumb back and forth along his stomach. "Hi, little bud," I whisper.
"Morning, Sunshine," Harry chirps, rolling off his elbow to kiss my cheek in a greeting.
"Good morning," I hum back, my voice still thick with sleep. "What time is it?"
He rolls back on his back, keeping his hand held out since Mosi is clinging to his finger for dear life. I notice how he has a pacifier in between his lips, keeping him calm in the early morning.
"Oh, like nearly eight."
"Eight?" I gasp, sitting up a little.
Nodding, Harry does the same and reaches for his mug of black coffee from the side, he slurps on it with a small smile.
"I know, I was expecting them to have woken us up really early but I did hear some movement about two minutes ago so I'm thinking any second now,"
"Oh what? You're psychic now?" I scoff, watching the door with a sarcastic throwing of my hand to try and prove a point.
