Tom Holland Imagines

Finding Out {T. H.}

   Today was the day that you were going to find out the gender of your baby. You and Tom were anxious for the truth and in your spare time over the past couple of weeks, the two of you would look at different nurseries; judging and debating which would be best for your child. And now you were sitting on the reclining bed in the doctor's office, you and Tom betting on the sex of the child and the cost of the bet. 

   "If it's a girl, you have to do my laundry for a month," Tom staked.

   "I already do your laundry," you laughed. "But if it's a boy, you have to take me with you to film your next movie." 

   He thought for a hot minute before answering. "Bet." 

   "You're so on Holland," you giggled. A knock sounded through the room and Dr Strauss entered the room. 

   "Hello, Mrs Holland, Mr Holland. How is everything today?" she asked. 

   "Great," you replied. 

   "And I assume that you will be finding out the sex today, am I correct?" 

   "Yes, ma'am," you said as you reclined back in the chair, lifting up your shirt to your bra line to reveal a tiny baby bump. A cool gel was slathered on your skin and then a moment later, and then a huge, wandlike thing was swimming in the gel, revealing on the screen your baby. 

   "Congratulations," she said. "It looks like you'll be having a baby boy."

   "Damn it!" Tom cursed while you were laughing.  

   "Thank you so much for being a boy. Thank you, thank you, thank you," you looked at Tom. "Looks like I get to go to Montreal now, Holland." 

   The rest of the doctor's visit went well, but Tom was still a little upset during the drive home. The two of you were now scrolling through Pinterest, looking at different nurseries, trying to find the right one for your baby. You and Tom were scanning for hours on end until the right one spoke to the both of you. A couple weeks later and you both were painting the other bedroom in your apartment. You were making a small stroke, trying to outline a tree for the wall's blank canvas. You step backwards and trip on a roller laying on the ground. Tom rushes to your side making sure you're okay and helps you up.

   "Are you sure you're fine?" he asks with worry in his voice.

   "I'm fine Tom, I promise," you respond. You take the paintbrush in your hand and swipe the remaining paint on his nose. He gives you a cocky look and rolls paint on your leg. 

   "Oh it is so on," you giggle. The two of you lunge at each other trying to swipe each other with paint, cautious of the walls. You had been going at each other for a good 20 minutes before you stopped.

   "Tom, Tom!" you shout.

   "What is it?" he asks.

   "I think the baby's kicking. God, this feels so weird." 

   He gingerly places his hand on your small bump, grinning from ear to ear when he feels a small thump against the palm of his hand. You feel a cold substance against your leg and look to find fresh paint and Tom's roller retracting from your leg. You smack Tom on the butt as he laughs and continue your paint war.