FRANCESCA
I was trying to focus on the positive, that in six months time, I'd be holding my beautiful baby in my arms. However, this was the fourth day I had spent in bed throwing up, and it was kind of difficult not to feel negative. After a quick visit to the doctor, I had been diagnosed with severe morning sickness, also known as "hyperemesis gravidarum". Being sick for hours on end was not how I had pictured what was supposed to be one of the greatest times of my life: growing a baby was meant to be magical, not something which I couldn't bare to think of doing again. I'd not only spent the past few days vomiting up every ounce of food and drink I had consumed, but I had missed John's game against Real Madrid. I was so gutted, and he was gutted that I had missed it, but there was nothing I could do; I could barely stand up, let alone make the journey to the Etihad and sit for ninety minutes. Watching the game on the television, I'd sat at home on my laptop, ordering baby clothes.
John had been at training all day today, ready for their game against Bournemouth tomorrow in the Premier League. We'd spoken briefly on his lunch break where I told him I'd been fine; I didn't want him to worry, but that's all we'd managed to speak today. As another wave of sickness ran over me, I rushed into the bathroom and threw up for what felt like the millionth time today. Hearing the front door open, I groaned to myself. I hated John seeing me like this. Wiping my mouth, I stood up and flushed the toilet. Making my way to the sink, I looked at myself in the mirror - I looked an absolute state. Throwing mouth wash to the back of my throat, I sighed to myself, before making my way out of the bathroom, and back to our room.
Within minutes, John had appeared in the door way, a cup of tea in his hands. "Here you go." He smiled, sitting it on my bedside table and perching next to me on the end of the bed. "And next time you spend the day throwing up, don't lie to me and tell me you're fine." He smirked at me as he planted a quick kiss on my lips. "Especially when you tell Fern the opposite."
Fern was the girlfriend of Harry, one of John's best friedds, and one of his teammates from the England squad. Whilst they didn't see each other often, they spoke over text every single day without fail. Telling Fern I wasn't feeling too good probably wasn't one of my best moves; I should have known it would have got back to John by the end of the day.
"I didn't want you to worry." I said, throwing my arms around his shoulders and pulling him closer to me. "Anyway, I've missed you today." He pulled back the duvet with his spare hand and patted the space, gesturing for me to climb under the duvet. He moved next to me, and pulled the duvet back over us, his arm around my waist. "How was training?" I asked him.
"It was good." He nodded. "Are you coming to the game tomorrow?"
"I'll see how I feel in the morning." I smiled. "I hope so."
As expected, I woke up the next morning to the same gut wrenching feeling. Rushing from our bed, I ran to the bathroom and projectile vomited into the toilet. I started to cry. I felt nothing but exhausted, and I was only three months in to the pregnancy. Suddenly, John appeared beside me, sitting down next to me on the floor. He wrapped his arms around me as I sat and cried, even though I'm sure I smelt of sick. "I'm so fed up of feeling like this." I whimpered. "I can't do this anymore. I'm exhausted. We're only three months in, we still have six months to go-"
"Hey, baby." He said, shushing me as he held me. "It's okay. I'm here, I'm here."
"I'm so tired." I sobbed.
"Go and get back into bed; have a chill day today. Watch the game on TV." He smiled.
"I feel so awful. I really want to be there." I frowned.
"I know." He said rubbing my back gently. "But I don't expect you to leave the house like this."
It was nearly midnight before John came rolling in the front door. I sat up in bed as the front door slammed shut, and waited for John to appear in the bedroom door. A smile on his face, I guessed they'd won the game. "Hey gorgeous." He said, walking over and sitting down next to me. He planted a kiss on my forehead. "Did you watch the game?" He asked, hopeful. I shook my head. His face dropped. "Oh." He said, pulling back from me slightly. "It was a good game."
"I really tried to watch it. I just fell asleep; I've not stopped being sick all day."
"I got Captain."
My hand shot to cover my mouth. Now I felt awful. "Oh baby, I'm so proud of you."
"Thanks." He smiled, not looking at me. I went to kiss him and he moved away.
"I'm sorry." I said. "I really am. I had my shirt on and everything."
"It's fine." He nodded. "I'm gonna go have a shower."
He moved out of the room and left me sat alone. A tear escaped my eye as I heard the shower turn on, leaving me sat in complete silence.
He emerged back in the door way, a towel wrapped loosely around his waist. He ran his hand in his hair, still not making eye contact with me. I frowned as he pulled a shirt over his head and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Baby." I whispered, touching his arm. He didn't move away this time, but relaxed as I touched him. "I'm sorry." I did feel awful. I'd missed so much recently and I felt like I was neglecting our relationship. "I promise I'll be at the next game."
"Come here." He said, holding out his arms. I cuddled into him as we embraced. "I love you."
"I love you more, handsome." I smiled. I stood up from the bed and he looked at me confused.
"Where are you going?"
"To get some drinks and snacks. We're watching the game on record." He smiled at me as I left the room. Grabbing our supplies, I made my way back to our bedroom. John was sat on the bed in a t-shirt and a pair of shorts, the remote in his hand as he looked to find the game. I sat down next to him, dropping the food and drinks onto the end of the bed. I looked at him, his glance reverting from the screen to me. "I am so proud of you." I sighed. "And I'm sorry for everything over the past few weeks. I've been such a crap girlfriend." He rolled his eyes at me.
"Don't be ridiculous." He said. "You're growing my baby; I couldn't ask for any more."
"I promise I'll be at the game next week." I said, pecking his lips. "I promise."
