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For the first time in a week, I felt relaxed and happy. George had done his best for me but every time I even got remotely near to being happy, I would inevitably end up heaving. Or worse, end up having my head down the toilet.
I often would try and shoo George away when he'd come and hold my hair back but every time I did it, he would remain there right beside me. Apart of me when it happened the first time was shocked at my husband’s actions as he had never done anything like it before, but another apart of me, a bigger part knew the action made me love him a whole lot more.
Sitting down on the sofa, a bunch of pillows propped against my back, I couldn't help but sigh in contentment. My stomach seems to be expanding as fast anything, not to the extent of Anne’s, but whilst Anne’s petite I certainly am not.
For once, I don't want to moan and lament at not being able to wear my high heels or even tie my shoelaces. At times my heart ached for my Stella McCartney heels but not today.
However, my feeling of contentment seemed to be shaken to its core as I heard Richard and George talking in the kitchen. Their voices seemed to come down to the living room and I couldn't help but rise out of curiosity as well as fear.
For some reason, I felt a little apprehensive at the sound of their voices.
Getting up from the sofa, though, was difficult. I had to propel myself up using my elbows which meant I had to do it a couple of attempts before I managed to stand. The first time I tried, I failed miserably as I didn't even rise but by the third attempt, both I and my belly were off the sofa.
After I had, finally, gotten to my feet, I practically waddled to the door of the kitchen as my stomach seemed to impede my steps.
I was just about to go inside when I caught the end of the conversation between Richard and George. I felt something in my stomach drop once more as I realised I had been right to feel apprehensive.
“Are you excited, George? Anne thinks I'm being overprotective but I just care.” Richard admitted to George.
It couldn't have been much longer (with me still near the door), before George with an almost similar tone answered him. I could hear both excitement and something else in his voice.
“Yes, of course I am. Imagine having a boy to teach cricket to, teach him to drive and everything else.” The excitement and happiness in George’s voice made me want to cry but even more so, when he mentioned a boy.
I felt a pang in my chest as I thought about his words. I understand his desire for a son, of course, I do but there was such a strong sense of fear that I'm not going to give him a son that I couldn't quite get rid of.
That fear seemed to replicate as I remembered two years ago. The perfect, baby boy I had given birth, too. Giving birth is supposed to be absolutely magical or at least memorable. The birth of the baby had been memorable but just for the worst possible reasons.
I must have made a sound as I saw both Richard and George look towards where I was standing. Richard, at the sight of me, gave me a smile and just from the sight of him, I knew he was happy.
My answering smile was warm and sincere as I smiled to him. I couldn't help but feel glad for them. If Richard’s happy, then Annie certainly is.
George, on the other hand, wasn't fooled by my smile even though it had been sincere as I could feel his eyes on me as if to see if something was wrong.
As I waddled into the kitchen, slowly, and with George guiding me by the arm, I desperately wanted to talk to George alone. To get some reassurance about what I had heard, especially.
The air in the kitchen seemed to grow awkward as Richard seemed to realise something was wrong with me and I think he did want to go and escape it but his politeness seemed to stop him. It was about five minutes later before Richard finally excused himself.
“I’d better go back to Anne!” He told us, smiling, before saying goodbye.
Once again, his smile was sincere but after as George turned his worried, concerned eyes on me, I knew I was going to ask about what he had told Richard. The fear I felt seemed to spur me on.
Apart of me felt scared of his response as I don't want him to confirm it but rather I wanted him to comfort me, to tell me he doesn't care and as George began to hold my hand, I felt a flicker of hope in me.
“George, I heard what you said about having a boy. Did you mean it?” I asked him, looking at him pointedly.
At my words, George widened for a moment before a look of tenderness come over of him. Whatever he was going to say I had a feeling it was going to be something nice.
“All men want sons, Isabel,” George explained to me, and I immediately felt foolish for thinking he didn't want, but George must have seen my crestfallen expression and began to speak once more, “but even if you do have a baby girl, she will be loved just as much!”
A rather stupid grin seemed to be spreading over my face, at his words, and in that instant, I realised something about my husband.
Although, at times, he can come across as ambitious or even greedy, he’s not with me. Even though, I still know he'd want a son (deep down), and I know a part of me will still worry about it, I believe his words.
If I do have a baby girl, she’ll be loved and adored and there’s nothing more I would want than that!