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Harry Styles has always been like a dog with a bone once she has her mind set on something; from her gold gymnastics medals as a teenager to her First degree to the beautiful blue eyed girl in her sociology lectures that she now has the privilege of calling her wife.
Today, however, it isn’t a pristine bill of education or sporting finesse that she’s after; all she wants is to paint her toe nails. It should be simple enough, if it weren’t for the fact that Harry is thirty nine weeks pregnant.
Harry frowns down at her protruding belly and then at the bed, wondering how she is going to do this. She tries propping her foot up on the edge of the bed, only to be stopped by her big belly once she tries to reach down. She sighs heavily and flings herself down onto the bed in a strop. After allowing herself a moment to be petulant, she swings one leg up and tries to get a firm footing in the mattress, however it is too soft and her belly is too big, and all in all she just can’t get a hold of her ankle before it slides right off the edge of the bed.
She grunts, shuffles and stretches; she pulls her foot in as close to her swollen body as she can and she tries extending her leg out and manoeuvring around the bump to get to her feet. But it’s no good.
She cries out in frustration and despair, balling up her fists and punching the bed like a toddler.
“Haz?” Louis’ voice comes from somewhere in the flat, and then the sound of heavy, thundering footsteps. They get closer very quickly, and Louis appears in the bedroom doorway looking flustered and panicked. “What’s happened, is it the baby? Are you okay?”
Harry glances up at her lovely wife standing there. Before she knows what is happening, she’s in tears. Louis is by her side in a heartbeat; scooping Harry up into her arms and comforting her as best she can despite Harry’s gargantuan tummy between them.
“Hazza? Baby, what’s wrong?”
“I-” Harry tries to speak but the lump in her throat stops her. She swallows it down, feeling sheepish and embarrassed now. Her emotions are all over the place. She tries again. “I just wanted to paint my toes!”
Harry feels more tears on their way as she fights against the conflicting emotions battling inside her. “I’m as big as a house and I feel fat and I just wanted to try and make myself feel a bit better and I can’t even do that because I’m too fat!”
She’s got progressively louder and shriek-ier and Harry knows that she’s pretty much hysterical at this point.
“Babe,” Louis’ calm and steady voice cuts through Harry’s frenzied shrieks, silencing her instantly. Louis is clearly struggling to hold back her laughter, and Harry feels bereft by her wife’s betrayal.
“It’s not funny, Lou!” She chokes out, grumpily trying to wriggle out of Louis’ arms. “Stop laughing at me!”
Louis breaks her resolve then. At least she has the decency to lift her hand to her face to try and hide her giggles. “Oh sweetheart, I’m not laughing at you!”
“You are!” Harry cries back, covering her face with her hands.
“Harry,” Louis continues in that same calming manner. She reaches out and gently takes Harry’s hands away from her face. “Harry, my love. You’re absolutely perfect to me, angel. All the time, but especially now. What you’re doing for us and our family is beautiful.”
Harry can feel her tear-streaked cheeks growing hot. “Shut up,” She mumbles with a bashful smile, despite herself.
“C’mon, I’ll paint your nails for you, duck. Shuffle back.”
Harry sniffles but nods in agreement. She shuffles back as per Louis’ request, propping herself up on their combined collection of pillows and throw cushions. She has to wriggle around a bit to get comfortable, but Louis dutifully waits for her until she’s comfortable.
“Ready?”
“Ready.”
Harry stretches out her aching legs and tries not to shudder as Louis’ soft hands touch her right foot. “Relax babe,” Louis whispers, soothing her hand over the top of Harry’s foot again. Harry takes a deep breath to concentrate on not giggling, and finds that after a moment or so it actually works.
Louis smoothes rose scented moisturiser over Harry’s taught and tender skin, over ankles that have lost their definition and arches that tingle numbly with nerve compression. She is careful but not slow to the point that Harry becomes ticklish again.
“When we’re done I’ll get you some cushions to prop your feet up, love,” Louis says without breaking her concentration. “Try and get this swelling to go down a bit. It looks so sore.”
Harry clamps down on her bottom lip and nods because it’s all she can do to stop herself from bursting into tears again. Louis peers up at her after a beat when she gets no response, and Harry’s knows it’s no good.
“Aw, love!” Louis exclaims softly, pausing her hands. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing!” Harry chokes out, fanning at her face and blinking fiercely. “Just… you really care for me don’t you? And I… I’m just overwhelmed and hormonal and puffy and… and-”
“Harry,” Louis says with a grin. “Yes, I do care for you, very much. Please don’t cry, sweet, it’s all right.”
Louis’ sweet nothings eventually calm Harry down and she settles back into the pillows, letting her eyes fall closed. Louis’ perpetually cold hands come perfectly in handy now; the coolness soothing Harry’s swollen skin.
Their baby is obviously enjoying the pampering too because after a few jerky motions and some popping little hiccups that make Louis laugh softly, they drift off to sleep and Harry’s abdomen stills. Harry knows that she only has at best a week or so to go until she gets to meet her baby, but she’s impatient and wants that moment to be now. Well, she sort of does. It is a bit daunting; she’d joked with Louis more than once that she should have volunteered to carry the baby instead. But millions of people do this every day; her own mum and mother in law have done it seven times between them so it can’t be that bad. Can it?
“Earth to Harry?”
Harry realises then that Louis is talking to her, and her eyes shoot open. She has no idea how long she drifted off for.
“Sorry, I- I must have fallen asleep for a minute there.”
“Yeah,” Louis agrees with mirth dazzling her blue eyes. “You only dribbled a little bit, and your snoring isn’t really that loud.”
“Lou!” Harry shrieks, covering her face with her hands. “Shut up, I didn’t!”
Louis cackles ungainly; Harry loves it.
“I just wanted to know what colour you fancied for your toes?”
The whole of the top drawer of Harry’s vanity is full of nail polishes; a meticulously ordered rainbow of colours from a thousand different brands that Louis has never been able to comprehend. Now though, Louis is holding back any smart comments.
“A nice pink, or a sparkly one? Blue? Neutral?”
Harry has to swallow down the thick, knotty mass of emotions threatening to make her cry once again. With a deep breath she makes her selection, feeling proud of herself for getting through that simple interaction – as stupid as that might sound.
“Coral it is!” Louis agrees with a flourish, picking up two bottles – Revlon’s Lady Luck and Essie’s Cute as a Button - and deliberating over them with a heavy set frown that makes Harry smile. Harry knows which one she’d choose.
“Hmm,” Louis finally seems as if she has made her decision. “Ah, that’s a sweet name. Let’s go for this one!”
Louis puts the Revlon back and heads back over to Harry with the Essie polish in hand. “Cute as a Button!” She exclaims happily. “Just perfect for you and our little one!”
Harry rolls her eyes but she loves the compliment.
Louis folds her old hair dyeing towel and pops it under Harry’s feet then settles herself on the end of the bed.
“Ready?” Louis asks. Harry nods affirmatively and closes her eyes again. She can smell the polish once Louis screws the cap off, and can feel Louis’ soft breaths against her shin as she leans right in, deep in concentration.
“Don’t move!” Louis instructs after the first coat is done. “Don’t even wiggle a toe! If you get cramp now, just power through it and do not smudge my handiwork!”
Harry manages to lay there peacefully without getting toe cramp until the first coat is dry, running her hands gently over her bump to pass the time while Louis wafts the air around trying to speed up the drying process.
Once the second coat is done and Louis is satisfied they are dry, she helps Harry into a sitting position so she can have a look. With her legs outstretched so her little sausage toes are visible over her large belly, Harry peers down to check out Louis’ work. She has certainly done a lovely job.
“Thanks, babe. I love them.” Harry smiles, craning her neck up so Louis can kiss her lips.
“You’re welcome babe,” Louis kisses her and then smiles. “Now, let’s get those big puffy watermelon ankles propped up to drain!”
“Oi!” Harry shrieks, aiming her fist at Louis’ arm as she dodges out of her way, tongue poking out cheekily.
Thirty Six Hours Later
“Hi, it’s Louis Tomlinson, my wife Harry Styles, she’s in labour and we were told to come up!”
“Okay, come on through!” The voice inside the intercom instructs them, and Louis darts towards the door as quickly as she possibly can.
“C’mon love, are you all right? Is it still hurting?”
Harry follows her inside in bewilderment, swatting Louis’ hand away from her. “Lou, calm down! I’m fine!” Harry promises, but Louis is too overwhelmed to really hear her. She knows that her hysterical, panicked state is by no means helpful to Harry and their baby but she can’t calm down. A midwife is approaching them with a warm, kind smile on her face and Louis sort of wants to fall into her arms and hug her.
“Hello ladies, right this way! We’ve got room number 12 all ready for you!”
“Harry, do you need a wheelchair?” Louis clamours, looking around frantically for a chair.
“I’m fine, Lou, I can walk a few feet!” Harry reassures her, though Louis feels far from reassured. “Just carry my bags, would you love?”
“Yeah. Yes, of course!” Louis makes a conscious effort to take a few deep breaths and the three of them shuffle through the ward towards room number twelve.
Louis is vaguely aware of a bed, an arm chair, an empty plastic cot and a large window with views of the illuminated car park below, but she won’t properly take in these sights until much later. She kind of gets ushered to the side lines in a way, but it’s probably for the best. The midwife makes her introductions and gets Harry settled on the bed. She gives Harry a gown to change into and paracetamol for the pain (which Louis finds quite hilarious). Harry is quickly attached to the CTG to monitor baby’s heartbeat, and they’re quite familiar with this part of the process, having been in a few times at around 34 weeks with slightly decreased movements.
Only once they have had confirmation from a professional that the baby is safe and happy inside can Louis start to relax. She takes up residence in the arm chair next to the bed while Harry is examined.
“So Harry, you’re about three centimetres dilated at the moment, sweetheart, very almost four. You’re very close to being classed as in active labour, okay? It shouldn’t be long.”
Harry seems disappointed by this, and Louis can’t blame her. She nods along as the situation is explained in a little bit more detail to them, and then the midwife leaves them alone for a moment to get settled and let the CTG continue to monitor the baby a little while longer.
Over the next couple of hours things start to move. Harry takes her contractions like a champ, sucking hard on the gas and air to get through them. A doctor comes round to assess Harry and offer her an injection in the thigh to try and ease the pain. However, from the look on Harry’s face half an hour later, with contractions coming at two and a half minute intervals, Louis doesn’t think the injection has done much to help.
The midwives have switched shifts now, and this new one is equally as lovely as the first, full of stories earlier on in the evening about past patients. Harry is too far gone to listen to stories now, though.
“Harry, we’d like to do another examination to see how far along you are now, is that okay?”
Harry nods desperately, probably quite unaware of what’s going on.
They wait until Harry’s contraction passes, until her screwed up features straighten out and her iron grip on the gas and air loosens. Louis holds Harry’s hand as she struggles to plant her feet on the mattress to be examined.
“Ooh, look at these glamorous toes!” Their midwife exclaims.
“My Loubear did them for me,” Harry slurs, high on gas and air. “She’s so good to me.”
Louis blushes and their midwife smiles over at her. “Lovely job, ‘Loubear’.”
Just a few moments later, the midwife pops her head back up from examining Harry with a satisfied smile on her face.
“Well, Harry, you’ll be very pleased to know that you’re eight centimetres dilated! That’s excellent progress, love.”
Harry makes a sort of exhausted wailing sound then drops Louis’ hand like a hot potato and scrambles for her gas and air. Harry’s grunts and screams are muffled around the device, and this one seems to be a lot longer and a lot worse than any before.
“Well done, babe, that one looked tough!”
“Really? You think?” Harry spits out in between great big breaths. Louis takes it on the chin; she knows Harry doesn’t mean her any harm, and by the way their midwife smirks at the exchange Louis knows this is just par for the course.
Harry’s contractions carry on like that, and eventually the contractions themselves are lasting longer than the gaps in between. Harry’s progressed too quickly to be given an epidural, much to her horror. She has no choice but to keep going as she is, until just before eleven PM when she is declared ready to start pushing.
Several times over the course of her labour, Harry declares that she cannot do it. Louis is right there by her side being as encouraging and supportive as she can be, though she doubts any of it is getting through to Harry directly. Harry screams her way through the first five or so pushes until the midwife’s polite requests for her to calm down finally get through. After that, Harry does seem to be keeping her concentration longer and better, so Louis figures they must know what they’re talking about.
“That’s an excellent push, Harry, well done! On the next contraction I want another big push like that! Chin to your chest and bottom pushing down into the bed, okay?”
Harry barely has time to catch her breath, poor thing, before the next contraction is upon her. Louis’ emotions are all over the place; she wants to take Harry’s pain away, but she also wants to meet her baby and she knows that this is the only way to get there. Harry soldiers on, taking a couple of gulping big breaths before starting to push again, red as a tomato but chin pressed down into her chest as instructed to.
At seventeen minutes past one, Madeleine Grace Tomlinson-Styles is delivered safely and healthily. She weighs a perfect eight pounds and two ounces with a head of wispy dark hair, ten lovely fingers and ten lovely toes. She comes out squawking loud and clear, just as she should. Her little eyes beneath her delicate, dusky eyelids are blue – Louis sees them only very fleetingly – and her skin plush, pink and soft.
Harry delivers the placenta and has to have some stitches, and whilst that is happening Louis follows the nurses around dumbly as they clean and wrap baby Madeleine. She cries uncontrollably as she holds her daughter in her arms for the first time.
“I love you, my darling, yes I do.” Louis whispers emotionally, breathing in the newborn smell and kissing her forehead softly. “I will always be here for you, no matter what you might need, okay? I love you my sweet Maddie.”
When Louis can finally bear to tear her eyes away from the bundle, she glances over at an exhausted Harry. Her cheeks are pink and her hair is splayed out all around her, saturated with sweat. Her gown is splattered with watery blood and mascara is smudged under her eyes that can barely hold open, but she’s never looked more beautiful.
The midwife raises Harry’s bed into a sitting position so she can have her first cuddle with Madeleine. Louis kisses Madeleine’s soft forehead once more and carefully passes her over to Harry. They share a quick kiss between them as Madeleine changes hands.
Harry bursts, quite unsurprisingly, into tears as she holds her daughter properly for the first time, and Louis is equally as emotional as she perches on the bed next to them. In the back of her head she remembers that you’re not supposed to sit on the bed if you’re not the patient, but nobody stops her.
Louis can’t bear to put any space between her and her girls. She rests one hand on Harry’s leg and the other on a corner of the soft blanket Madeleine’s is swaddled in.
“I am so bloody in love with you, Harry.” Louis chokes out through her tears, trying to stay calm. “I’m so proud of you, baby. Our daughter is beautiful, so perfect, and it’s all down to you. Thank you, baby. I love you. I’m gonna do everything in my power to make sure you never need for anything. I promise.”
They’d promised each other similar things when they got married, but their vows have taken on new meaning now. A fresh tear rolls down Harry’s already wet cheeks as they make eye contact.
“I love you so much, Loubear,” Harry whispers, her voice swallowed up by her tears. Little Madeleine’s brow wrinkles and then straightens out again, her pet lip quivering as she makes reflexive sucking motions. Harry will be doing her first feed sooner rather than later.
“A perfect little family,” Another voice sounds, and they both look up at the same time to see their midwife standing at the foot of the bed smiling at the little scene they make. “Congratulations, ladies. Madeleine is perfect. Harry, you did a wonderful job, sweetheart. And Louis, you were fantastic support to Harry throughout.”
“Pssh,” Harry jokes tiredly. “She didn’t do anything.”
The three of them laugh softly in the quiet room that was home to such chaos and noise just one small hour ago. “Maybe she should carry the next one?”
Louis is horrified at that suggestion; completely put off after seeing what Harry has been through in the last nine months, not to mention all the testing and procedures she underwent before she was even pregnant.
No, for now Louis is more than happy to just enjoy their new life as a family of three.
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