the baby project | harry styles

Chapter 27 - The Count-Down

Harry's POV

I studied Cheryl as she wobbled herself to her feet and walked toward the calender, grabbing her marker from the desk. She had been counting down the days of her pregnancy—due on August 14, 2015. Of course, only 5 percent of babies born are born on their due date, but that's okay. She was really excited to meet the little one.

"The last mark of the month, Harry. I'm almost there! Three little more months, and I'll be ready to go!" Cheryl beamed down at me and tossed the marker back on the desk, making me laugh at her carelessness.

"I know Cheryl. We need to start planning on where we are going to keep her. I think it's about that time to relocate," I smiled as she sat down on my lap, enabling me to snake my arms around her waist where our baby rested peacefully.

"Yeah, and I think we need to start buying baby stuff as well," She pecked my cheek, "I'm really excited for this."

I nodded and lowly chuckled, "I know you are."

"Well are you doing anything today?" Cheryl perked her head up, and I knew where she was taking this conversation. She was wanting to either go house-browsing or go baby stuff-browsing.

I shrugged nonchalantly, "Nope. Why do you ask?" I asked as if I were unknowing of the reason. Cheryl rested her head on my shoulder and took her hand in mine.

"Why don't we go look for houses? But not really big ones because those are too high-maintenance." She said in a weird voice, making me laugh again.

"What if I like high-maintenance?" I flirted cheekily, her lips inches away from mine. She wanted to kiss me; I could see it in those beautiful eyes of hers.

"I know you don't because I'm not high-maintenance." She pecked my lips.

Bingo.

"Alright," I sighed in defeat, "We can go look at houses." Cheryl picked up her head and did a little dance, forcing me to join her. I couldn't let her have all the  fun.

"Let's get dressed then, shall we?" She grabbed my hand and tugged me up from the bed. I never thought she'd be so energetic; being this pregnant and all. It was sure astonishing.

She led me into the closet and pulled down a fresh, clean white shirt from a hanger, tossing it in my direction. Next, she tossed some of my black skinny-jeans to me and told me, "Get dressed Curly."

I smirked and obeyed her commands, strolling out of the closet. I changed into the clothes she had picked out for me, and I waited for her to come out of the closet.

Cheryl was busy putting make-up on, so I decided that I should stop her. I grabbed her by the waist gently and pulled her to the bed with me. She giggled uncontrollably, collapsing on the bed next to me, "Harry, stop!" I laughed my hardest and let go of her. My plan didn't work in the end. She just gave me a look.

I kept laughing, "I told you that you don't need that stuff." I scolded her and stood up, heading myself to the closet to pick out some shoes. I decided on white Converse.

"Yes, I do. I know you think I'm pretty and all, but I'm really not. Plus you're marrying me so you have to say it." She fought back, feisty as could be. I knew she was this way the first day I met her, and I wouldn't change it for the world. I loved competition—what guy didn't?

"You're right. You aren't pretty, Cheryl. You're beautiful. And I certainly do not have to say it. It's a choice, y'know," I chuckled and laced up my shoes onto my strangely-shaped feet.

She remained quiet for the rest of the time she put her make-up on. Of course she looks good with all that stuff, but in the long run; I would much prefer her natural look. Natural has always been my favourite, and she had a great deal of it, but I just didn't know how to make her see it. It was as if she was blind of her own beauty.