Holmes fic: Bearing
Title: Bearing
Rating: PG
Wordcount: ~7,400
Warnings: references to miscarriage/child loss and fear of the same
Characters: Watson, Holmes (H/W), a little bit of Mrs. Hudson, OFC
Summary: Watson records his thoughts and worries during a pregnancy with an uncertain outcome.
A/N: Written for the shkinkmeme prompt: One day, Watson starts to bleed (whether it's from physical trauma or just starts to have pain and starts to bleed) and realizes that he has had a miscarriage. He doesn't tell Holmes.
Some time later, Watson finds himself pregnant again and this time Holmes knows (and is rather excited about becoming a father). Watson has another miscarriage.
After several miscarriages, Watson is finally able to conceive a child and it starts to look like the child might make it to term (maybe it's the longest child Watson has been pregnant with).
Basically, I'd like to see a tread carefully sort of pregnancy.
-Also written for my hc_bingo squares "difficult pregnancy" and "insomnia" (for the cross-square bonus)
-Written with some aspects of the Granada series in mind (e.g. room layouts), but can be read as strictly book canon.
For some years Holmes and I indulged in carnal relations with full knowledge that such activities may result in a child thanks to my somewhat unusual physiology. We did not actively seek that result, but neither did we endeavor to prevent it, for we were willing to accept it if fate called us to be parents.
We had been intimate for something like two years when I first recognized the early signs and symptoms, but I did not even have time enough to break the news to Holmes before I began to bleed and recognized that the pregnancy was, for whatever reason, not viable.
It is possible that occurred on several more occasions, early enough that there were no symptoms aside from bleeding later than I should have. I did not inform Holmes on any of these occasions.
The next time I developed the symptoms of pregnancy, they remained persistent for some weeks, long enough to be sure of the diagnosis and inform Holmes. Holmes was in a state of disbelief at first, evidently having assumed we could not have a child since years had passed without that result, but he quickly accepted the idea and was overjoyed at the prospect.
Barely a fortnight after I told him, the bleeding started. Holmes was upset, of course, but his mind is too rational to dwell on the might-have-beens. Mine was not. I had feared such an outcome, but I had sincerely hoped this time would go well and was distraught that it had not. I had always thought I would end up having children one way or another, but now I began to doubt whether I was truly capable of bearing a child.
It took some time before I was willing to allow Holmes' advances on my person after that; I could not bear it if I lost another so soon.
But I did not, for the simple reason that I evidently did not conceive. The months came and went like clockwork and nothing happened despite our continued closeness.
Then came Holmes' apparent death. I was inconsolable, barely able to keep going through the motions of day-to-day living, and I do not know what might have become of me if not for Mrs. Hudson's gentle care and prodding. I am somewhat embarrassed to admit that my mental state at the time prevented me from recognizing what should have been obvious, so I had nearly completed my first trimester before I even realized I was pregnant.
Oh, how I longed for that child to console me in my grief! I was exceedingly careful about everything: what I ate, how much I slept, how often I took a little exercise, and for a while all seemed well.
But in time, I lost that child as I had lost the others. It would not be an exaggeration to say that I was devastated. I . . .
I still cannot speak of it.
With the death of Holmes and what would have been our child, so too died any hope I had for children.
I thought no more of children after Holmes' miraculous return, presuming we were both close enough to middle age that there was no reason to expect that outcome any longer.
Nearly a year after Holmes returned and startled me senseless in my study, I began to suspect with some horror that I had again conceived.
Yes, horror. I knew all too well the odds were not in my favor to begin with, due to my age, and with my history . . . a negative outcome was almost certain. No amount of wishing or hoping could change those facts.
I grew ever more anxious as days turned into weeks and still the pregnancy continued. I kept it from Holmes for as long as I could.
My worry interfered with my sleep, and the fatigue in combination with the worry affected my appetite. Some nights I lay awake for hours, my thoughts always treading the same paths; I would turn away from Holmes so my restlessness didn't disturb him, but I think sometimes he was awake and watching me, perhaps hoping I would confess what troubled me.
One morning following a particularly bad night, I was so slow in rising that Holmes was already seated and eating when I finally opened the door to the sitting room. Holmes greeted me without looking up from the paper and I was about to reply when the smell of bacon struck me like a blow. The scent of bacon was the one thing I absolutely could not tolerate while pregnant, and I could almost feel the blood draining from my face as the gorge started to rise in my throat. I staggered to the bathroom and began heaving the paltry contents of my stomach into the commode.
Holmes was quick to follow me, though he did not speak. When I flushed away what little I had brought up, he handed me a glass of water. When I finished that, he gently helped me stand and steered me toward the bedroom--I was grateful to note he had closed the sitting room door.
Only once I was seated on the bed and he had settled beside me, my hands cradled in his, did he say, "Should I call a doctor?"
"No," I said quickly.
"So you are not ill, you have merely worried yourself into illness."
"I suppose you could say that," I conceded, looking away from his concerned gaze.
"One of my conjectures was that you were ill and fearful of telling me, but it seems that is not the case."
"No, I am not ill."
"But you are not yourself, either."
"Not quite myself, no," I said, trying to laugh and failing miserably. "I am pregnant."
His hands squeezed mine until I looked up at his face once more. "But that is wonderful! Why didn't you tell me?"
A large lump formed in my throat as I saw the joy on his face. "Because I'm going to lose it like the others."
A frown briefly creased his face. "I know of only one. How many others have there been?"
I had to close my eyes. "Three for certain, and perhaps more that were not present long enough to be sure. The last of the three was after you . . . left."
"My dear Watson," he murmured, releasing my hands and embracing me instead. As I leaned against him, I realized with some embarrassment that there were tears on my cheeks. I wiped them away on the shoulder of his dressing gown.
It was several minutes before he spoke again. "When you say you will lose this child, is that based on past occurrences or is it the opinion of a specialist?"
"I have not seen a specialist," I admitted.
"Then there is still hope," Holmes said confidently.
I did not have the heart to tell him the many reasons for my despair.
He persuaded me to remain in the bedroom while he brought my breakfast--without any bacon--and sat with me while I ate a small portion. Then he insisted that I lie down to rest and he lay alongside me so we were pressed together from shoulder to ankle.
Somehow, I managed to sleep for a few hours.
At Holmes' insistence, I contacted the midwife I had engaged while he was absent and requested an appointment. To my surprise, she did not immediately reach my conclusion and instead voiced the opinion that there was a reasonable chance that this child could survive, provided that I was careful about my activities.
Holmes was satisfied, I could tell by his expression. I was not and voiced my concerns. The midwife sat on a stool so she could look me in the eye as I sat on her examination couch. "All of those things were true the previous time as well. Despite that outcome, I am confident in your success for one reason: this time you are not grieving."
I looked down at my hands as my face heated and I felt Holmes' hand gripping my shoulder in support and a silent apology. I do not know if he will ever feel he has apologized enough for those years, though I have long since forgiven him.
That evening Holmes insisted we go to a concert, followed by a light supper at a restaurant and a leisurely stroll about Regent's Park. If his aim was distraction, he succeeded.
But I still woke in the night feeling sick to my stomach and damp with sweat.
~~~
Once again I am awake in the wee hours of the morning. Holmes is away on a case--he has been for three days and he has not yet sent word that he is returning--so I must occupy myself as I can.
Thus this account. I began it two nights ago, as a way to pass the time and in hopes that putting my fears onto paper would give them less power in my mind.
So far no such luck.
It has been five weeks since that first visit to the midwife and the child yet lives within me.
As of this morning, this is the longest I have been able to remain pregnant. Two more weeks and I shall be halfway to completion.
Yesterday was . . . difficult. I continue to feel ill almost continually, and the anxiety of reaching the point where I lost our previous child meant that I could not eat, could not read, and most certainly could not sleep. The midwife, recognizing the import of the day, paid me a visit and assured me yet again that I was doing as well as could be expected. She stayed much longer than was necessary; I suspect she felt sorry for me having to pass this time alone.
She even convinced me to escort her back to her consulting room, as exercise might help my appetite or tire me enough to sleep. The weather was pleasant enough that I took a meandering route home. I ate very little dinner--though perhaps without the exertion I would have eaten nothing--but even as the evening wore on my weariness never resulted in sleep.
I could not even focus on continuing this account. I spent a while in the bath, waiting for sharp pains that never came. After that I slowly paced the sitting room, thinking of Holmes as I passed his chemical table or his chair or the spot where he would lean against the mantelpiece when he was thinking. Thoughts of Holmes were preferable by far to the other thoughts that haunted my every step.
I intentionally did not tell Holmes what date was looming when he was deciding whether to accept his current case. When he hesitated at leaving me behind--I am too tired to be of much use as a companion and I did not think travel would be wise--I encouraged him to go. I reasoned that he would wish to remain close to me as the pregnancy advanced, so this may be his last opportunity to accept a case out of town for some time.
So he went, and I was alone. But I managed and Mrs. Hudson has been exceedingly kind, as always. Perhaps by the time Holmes returns I will no longer be so preoccupied by what occurred in his absence.
~~~
Holmes returned early this afternoon after a week away, the circles under his eyes making it seem like he'd been awake that whole time and his manner utterly devoid of the manic energy he has during his cases. I rose from my chair to greet him, intending to bundle him off to bed at the first opportunity. As soon as he saw me he said, "My dear Watson, you look terrible."
Even while he spoke, I realized I no longer had control of my limbs and my knees buckled. As my vision narrowed I saw Holmes drop his satchel and leap toward me.
When I returned to myself, Holmes' worried face was mere inches from mine. "Welcome home," I said wryly and tried to sit up.
He set his hands on my shoulders to keep me still. "Are you well?" he demanded.
"I merely stood up too fast," I assured him.
"Then why do you look like you've been ill?" he asked, helping me sit up and holding my arm while I gingerly climbed back up onto my chair.
"I could say the same of you."
"We both know what I have been doing," Holmes rightly pointed out. "But what of you?"
"Nothing worse than usual," I said. "And I was concerned about you. It seems I was right to worry." It was not the whole truth, but there was truth in it.
Holmes frowned. "You had nothing to be concerned about."
"Then why do you look like you're ready to collapse?"
"I may have kept abnormally long hours in order to conclude the matter more quickly," Holmes admitted ruefully.
"And skipped many meals too, I'll wager," I teased gently.
Holmes gave me a sheepish look.
"Is Mrs. Hudson going to bring something up for you?" It was barely a half hour after lunch so she would still have the food out.
"No. I told her I'd wait until teatime."
I gave him my best disapproving look. "Then you have time for a nap."
"Only if you'll join me."
"Naturally." Our negotiations thus easily concluded, Holmes carefully helped me up, then retrieved his bag and followed me into the bedroom.
We were both weary enough to fall asleep readily and spent most of the afternoon resting in one another's company.
Only after Holmes had eaten a sandwich and had two cups of tea did I ask him for the story of his week. We passed a quiet and comfortable evening and had a simple dinner, then retired to bed early.
Lying in the dark in Holmes' embrace, I considered telling him about the milestone I had just passed, but I hesitated. I'm not a superstitious person in general, yet I fear speaking of it would lead to something happening.
Holmes is still sleeping like the dead, thoroughly exhausted by his trying week. I think I shall rejoin him in a moment; though the nap seems to have satisfied my need for sleep for now, being near him seems to keep my mind from worrying quite so much.
Now that I have begun this, I suppose I ought to continue it until . . . well, until something happens either way. A journal of sorts. And if things come to a bitter end, I can always burn it.
~~~
Naturally, as soon as I decided to keep this account as a journal, something happened to prevent me from maintaining it.
Holmes has been ill for nearly three weeks. The morning after his return, he woke with what seemed to be a bit of a cold. It worsened during the day and Holmes haunted our rooms like a congested ghost, a blanket clutched about his shoulders over his dressing gown and used handkerchiefs erupting from his pockets and trailing in his wake. I tried to convince him to stay in bed but he was restless and refused. I let him be, for I was too tired to argue, but I did insist that he eat something at mealtimes and go to bed at a decent hour--and in those things I had Mrs. Hudson's full support.
When Holmes did lie down that night, he was troubled by coughing that persisted so long as he was lying flat. We solved the problem with a pile of pillows that he reclined against, and he quickly fell into an uneasy sleep.
Holmes' illness continued to worsen the second day, and I began to fear it was something more serious than the bad cold Holmes claimed it to be. That he was, at the very least, feeling decidedly unwell was borne out by the fact that he went to bed that night without any hint of prompting. I checked on him before he fell asleep and found he had developed a fever and could not breathe at all through his nose.
The night the coughing returned despite Holmes being propped on the pillows. Concerned by this development, I carefully listened to his breathing and his coughing, but found no signs of pneumonia.
The fourth morning he woke up and could speak only in a strangled whisper that was painful to hear. I commanded him to remain in bed for the day and he didn't argue.
The details after that are hazy, for the days that followed were all so similar that they didn't seem distinct even at the time. There were moments Holmes could hardly breathe due to the coughing and the congestion, when I fretted about him choking or ceasing to breathe entirely. There were even more moments when all Holmes could do was lie limply on the bed, his sharp eyes dulled by the fever and his restless hands for once utterly still. He--and I--slept in snatches regardless of the time of day and I periodically took his temperature and pulse and listened to his lungs with my stethoscope.
Despite his continued illness, and despite how terrible his coughs were to listen to, Holmes somehow escaped the scourge of pneumonia developing in his ailing lungs.
Mrs. Hudson was a gem through it all, ensuring Holmes had a steady supply of clean handkerchief and gently reminding me to eat whether or not Holmes consumed much.
Though in retrospect it seems that I had plenty of time to think and worry about those things that have troubled me for weeks, I find that I was so focused on Holmes' condition that I gave very little thought to my own.
It was not far from Holmes' mind, however.
When he'd been ill for nearly two weeks, I was bent over him with my stethoscope yet again when he gripped my wrist abruptly and said urgently in his whispered voice, "Watson, you should not be near me. What if you should become ill?"
I patted his hand and gently laid it back on the bed. "It's far too late to protect myself in that way, and I promise you I'm quite all right," I assured him.
But all my reassurances have not stopped him from demanding at least once a day, "Are you well?" It would be frustrating if Holmes were healthy, but hearing his hoarse whisper only reminds me that we have been lucky in how his illness progressed. It easily could have been so much worse.
He continues to improve, to my relief, but his cough still sounds awful so I still listen to his breathing at least once a day. This afternoon I sat back against the pillows next to Holmes after once again not hearing anything of concern in his lungs, and the end of my stethoscope bumped against my stomach. I realized that I passed the midway point while worrying over Holmes and I had a sudden, strange thought.
I waited until Holmes dozed off before I acted on my idea. Even with Holmes asleep I was too self-conscious to do it in his presence, so I went into the sitting room and sat on the settee. Only once I was certain my activity could not be seen from Holmes' doorway or the doorway into the hall did I unfasten my trousers to reveal the growing lump in my lower abdomen.
I could hardly breathe as I pressed the end of the stethoscope against my skin and listened. At first I heard nothing. I moved the chest piece around the lump in small increments, not certain if there was anything to listen for. Just as I was about to give up, I heard it.
It was faint and rapid and unmistakably there: the heartbeat of the child within me.
A slight adjustment made it more clearly audible and I sat back as wonder overtook me. It was alive, and I now had a way to verify that when I was worried. It was alive despite all my troubles with the others. It was alive in spite of my worry and stomach troubles and inability to sleep. Most of all, it was alive.
I felt light-headed and realized I had been holding my breath.
"Watson?" Holmes' voice croaked from much closer than it should've been, considering I'd left him asleep in the next room. He shuffled over and sat beside me.
"You shouldn't be out of bed," I scolded.
He ignored me and asked, "What are you doing?"
I was certain he had already determined what I was doing by taking in my open trousers and the stethoscope in my hands, so I removed the earpieces and offered them to him. "Listen."
He had to bend over to do so, but he didn't seem to mind. It took a moment, but abruptly he went utterly still and he made a small noise of surprise. "Marvelous," he murmured. His admiration was cut short by a coughing fit. When he could breathe again, he said, "The beats are quite regular, so it seems healthy."
"I don't know how it's supposed to sound, but yes, at least it's regular. Now go back to bed before you make your fever worse. I'll be there in a moment."
Holmes fell asleep again before I could join him in the bed, so I have spent some few minutes bringing this account up to date. I was going to join him in a nap, but it's nearly dinner time, so I will have to wake him instead. Now that he's starting to recover I'm going to insist that he return to some sort of eating schedule.
~~~
Holmes will scold me for writing this, but it seems the price of feeling better is the return of the insomnia.
But I should begin at the beginning. Just as Holmes was finally recovering, I came down with a cold. It truly was only a cold, nothing nearly as sinister as what Holmes had suffered, but Holmes has been quite strict about me staying abed and resting for the last week and a half. For at least part of the time I didn't mind it much, since I felt exhausted, but the rest of the time has been a trial upon my nerves.
The midwife paid us a visit a few days ago--it had been weeks since I'd seen her--and she was satisfied with everything except my appetite. Fortunately that seems to be returning along with my sense of smell, though I will be cautious until I'm certain my stomach upset will not return.
I almost thought it had this evening, for there was a strange feeling in my stomach following dinner. But then I realized it was like no queasiness I had ever experienced . . . no, it could only be the first fluttering movements of the child. I would not have arrived at that conclusion if the midwife had not mentioned it during her visit, but now that I put the name to it, it didn't feel like it could be anything else.
I must have had a strange expression on my face, judging by the alarm in Holmes' voice when he demanded to know what was the matter. When I told him, he was rather put out that he wouldn't be able to feel it from the outside. That didn't stop him from trying to discern the movement with my stethoscope, of course, but he met with no success.
Now that I have felt it once, I feel it almost constantly, a gentle fluttering within me, and I silently beg and plead that it might never stop.
~~~
My trousers no longer button. Between my ravenous appetite of late and the growth of the child, the roundness of my stomach makes wearing my old clothing quite impossible. Holmes obtained some larger clothing for me--since I could not venture out myself in such a state of undress--so I least I do not have to worry about revealing too much of myself. The clothes are not flattering, though, so while I am not so large as to draw stares on the street, I prefer not to go out unless in the forgiving light of dusk.
At that hour I only draw stares if I faint, as I did today. It is only luck that I wasn't in the middle of the street at the time; Holmes was able to steer my collapse onto a convenient set of front steps, so I was not in the way while regaining consciousness.
We returned home as soon as I could stand even though we had only just begun our evening stroll. Holmes is quite worried, for this is either the fifth or sixth time I have collapse in such a manner, though all but this occasion occurred in our rooms. Truthfully, I frequently find myself light-headed, and not always at the times when being so would make sense. I can only hope it is a strange side effect of the child's growth.
~~~
Since I have been faithful about recording my troubles and worries, I thought it only proper to record that I am presently feeling better than I have since the pregnancy began. If it weren't for this dratted insomnia, I could call myself quite comfortable, but the weariness casts a pall over even the brightest of days. Even so, I am mercifully free of the stomach upsets and the headaches and everything else that came before, and I haven't fainted for several days either.
The midwife tells me to enjoy it while it lasts, since the child's growth will soon lead to new discomforts. But for now I am content and can almost feel hopeful that all this will end well.
My anxiety has eased a good deal thanks to the movements and the heartbeat that confirm the child yet lives.
Eased, that is, but not disappeared. I don't know if I will ever be rid of the anxiety entirely, for there are a whole host of ills that could still befall our child.
Holmes would tell me I am being irrational and I know that I am, but I cannot seem to keep such things from my mind in the dark hours of the night when Holmes and the child sleep and I am awake.
~~~
Holmes has not left my side all day.
Early this morning I was dozing in his embrace while he slowly rubbed my stomach--sometimes that helps me drop off to sleep for a few precious hours. The child was wakeful and active and abruptly struck out with some force right beneath one of Holmes' hands.
"I felt that," Holmes said with apparent shock.
"It was a good one," I murmured sleepily. I moved his hand to where the child continued to drum against my insides. "Do you feel that?"
"Yes." Holmes pressed a kiss to my nape and tightened his embrace, carefully keeping his hand over the child's movement.
Holmes has been careful to be within reach of me ever since, and at first his hovering was frustrating. Then I remembered that he was only now able to feel what I have been feeling for weeks. So I've humored him, taking his hand and setting it in the appropriate place when I thought the kicks were vigorous enough to feel from outside.
He even remained close when I laid down for my morning and afternoon naps on the settee. In the afternoon I roused from a light sleep to find Holmes sitting on the floor beside me, brandishing my stethoscope.
"He wasn't moving, so I'm listening instead."
I ran my fingers through Holmes' hair, hearing the unspoken worry in his words. "It must rest sometimes, just as we do," I said.
"I determined as much. There is a slight decrease in the heartbeat when he is still."
"That is good to know." I had not noticed such a difference, but Holmes always has been more observant.
Then he asked why I refer to our child as 'it' rather than 'he' or 'she' (Holmes is certain it is a boy, but is willing to humor me should I have the opposite opinion). I don't think I explained very well, for he didn't seem convinced.
What it comes down to is this: if I think of the child as a son or daughter, I will naturally begin to think about his or her future--my mind is quite capable of inventing scenarios both good and bad. If I allow myself to think of the child's future, it will be that much more difficult to accept if something happens before or during the birth. I do not even think so far ahead as the birth, some ten weeks away if all goes well, because that would be taking the intervening weeks for granted.
I can take nothing for granted.
I am grateful for each day that its heart beats and its body tumbles about within mine; I cannot look any farther ahead than that. Life is so uncertain and gives no guarantees.
Only when I have reached the point where the child could survive independently will I be able to think of the future. Childbirth has its own dangers, of course, but somehow I am not so worried about those as what might occur between now and then.
~~~
The child is growing so quickly now, it's astonishing . . . and uncomfortable. I have passed into the period where the child interferes with my body's normal functions. My back aches from the added weight and sitting down and standing up have become an exercise in balance or I shall topple over. I feel ill if I eat more than a small amount at one time--this is rather like my earlier trouble--and my feet have developed a tendency to swell when I am on them for any length of time. The skin of my abdomen is frequently itchy and has developed numerous angry red marks from being so stretched. And I am often tired; that, at least, has not changed.
I also feel I should not say much about my discomfort--this condition is, after all, something I longed for on numerous occasions. But I was younger then, and now I sometimes wonder how much more of this I can bear, feeling so achy and ungainly and short of breath.
Holmes always seems to know when I am in such a mood--it's probably not difficult for him to discern, for I become quite snappish--and he bundles me off to the bathtub to soak away the aches and the itching. When I'm finished in the tub, he carries me off to bed and strokes my sensitized skin with oiled hands while murmuring soothing words into my ear. These occasions so frequently end with Holmes buried deep within me or his mouth around me that just feeling his hands upon my stomach can stir me quite quickly.
This evening was one of these occasions, and as Holmes fell asleep beside me and the child moved within me, I felt thankful. Each day I endure these inconveniences is one day closer to when the child will be able to survive on its own. My minor discomforts are well worth the trouble, especially with Holmes here to remind me that there are still pleasures to be had in my current state.
~~~
We had a terrible scare today.
My back began aching fiercely sometime during the night, so when I tried to rise this morning, it was difficult to stand or even move. I also felt a nagging discomfort in my stomach as if I had eaten something that disagreed with me, though I had no idea what I might have consumed that would cause such a reaction.
That impression was reinforced by the nausea brought on by the smell of breakfast, and I retreated to the bedroom as quickly as I could manage, followed by Holmes with a cup of tea and some toast. I tried to eat, but was soon convinced that doing so would only upset things further.
I spent the morning curled miserably in bed, gradually becoming aware of a periodic cramping of my insides. I made several trips to the bathroom but still the cramping continued, and I found myself glad that the midwife was due to check on me in the afternoon.
The hours dragged by and Holmes hovered over me anxiously, finally suggesting that he ought to fetch the midwife early. When I refused he joined me in bed, curling up with me, a warm and silent presence.
He leapt up when the bell rang at last, and hurried to meet her on the stairs. He must have told her about my discomfort, for she looked unhappy when she came into the bedroom.
She looked even unhappier after I answered a multitude of questions and she had spent a while feeling my abdomen. "You should have sent for me hours ago. You are in early labor."
"But it's too early," I protested.
"That means very little to the child," she said as she poured a glass of water and handed it to me. "Drink."
She had me drink one glass every ten minutes for an hour and a half, until I was certain I would have to spend the next several hours in the bathroom. But, somehow, that worked to stop the cramping. She seemed relieved when I passed a half hour without having another cramp, but she remained for another hour to be certain.
When she left, she gave me strict instructions: "If you value your life and the child's, you will drink plenty of water and you won't move from this bed until after the birth. If you so much as stand up, you could bring on labor again and I will not be responsible for what happens to either of you." She also said something to Holmes that made him blush, so I suspect I know what it was.
I still haven't quite gotten used to the idea that I will spend the next six weeks in this bed. Holmes has promised to help me in every possible way, but I fear we will both soon be suffering from utter boredom.
~~~
Two weeks in, we aren't utterly bored just yet. Much of the credit for that goes to Holmes, who has shown a good deal of ingenuity in getting around the fact that I should remain in bed.
I insisted that we establish a routine, mostly so I remember to eat and drink every few hours and so Holmes doesn't forget to eat at all, so the routine includes mealtimes and naptimes and time for other activities. Holmes has filled that extra time by bringing boxes of old notes into the bedroom under the pretense that I can help him sort through them; I say it's a pretense because he has never yet been reluctant to answer my questions about the cases so vaguely described on the pages.
He even told me the story of the Giant Rat of Sumatra, but has made me promise with the most solemn oaths that I will not write of it. A shame, for it is quite an astonishing story. Others he has told me I have already begun writing, though I do not think all of them will be fit for print.
When we tire of the papers and boxes, Holmes will sometimes carry me down the hall so I can have a bath and disobey, in the strictest sense, the command not to move from bed, but Holmes made quite a mess when he tried to help me sponge myself down while in bed and I had to be moved anyway so the sheets could be changed. Once or twice he has taken me into the sitting room to lie upon the settee for a change of scene.
Even with the routine and Holmes' varied attempts at diversion, there are still times that I wallow in my thoughts and feel rather uncomfortable and frustrated with my predicament and anxious and self-conscious about all of the ways my body has changed and grown. Some enlargement is expected, certainly about the abdomen and even to some extent in the chest as the tissues there become swollen with milk in anticipation of nursing the child. You would not expect my feet to swell now that I am never upon them, yet they do, and sometimes even my hands and face feel puffy and I do not like it and wish it to stop.
Holmes assured me that my features look just as attractive as they always have, but he is quite biased on that subject and I do not, in this instance, take his words as the unvarnished truth. Mrs. Hudson is a more reliable informant, and she tells me that I do not look as terrible as I think, and anyhow these things happen when one is in such a condition and they are always temporary. This does not reassure me as much as she thinks but I appreciate the honesty.
The midwife concurs with Mrs. Hudson and assures me that I am doing as well as could be expected under the circumstances. That isn't reassuring. Neither is the fact that the child has already moved into the birthing position, or so she said this afternoon. She also said that wasn't unusual at this stage, a sign of the coming birth just as the false pains are. I am not worried by the false pains because they do not feel the same as the early labor did, but she cautioned me to pay close attention and send for her immediately if I have concerns.
Approximately four weeks remain for my term to reach completion, but the midwife says the child could arrive in a fortnight and suffer no ill effects for being somewhat early. Being told how close we are to the end has made me realize that we have utterly neglected to prepare for the child's arrival. I said as much to Holmes after the midwife left and he hesitated before responding, an odd look on his face.
"You have neglected it, perhaps," he said cryptically. "Excuse me for a moment."
He left, closing the door behind him. I burned with curiosity as I heard footsteps going up and down the stairs and the thump of things being set down on the floor in the hallway.
When the bedroom door opened again, Holmes backed into the room, gingerly inching a small piece of furniture through the doorway with Mrs. Hudson directing from the other side. As soon as it was clear of the door, Holmes picked it up and set it near the bed: a cradle, filled with small baby blankets and possibly several cushions--it was difficult to tell from where I was sitting.
While I was peering at the cradle, Holmes brought in a small trunk and set it near my feet on the bed and Mrs. Hudson set a basket next to the cradle. Then Mrs. Hudson left us, closing the door behind her.
"Oh, Holmes," I said, overwhelmed. "How long have you had these things?"
"I began collecting them a few months ago. Mrs. Hudson kindly stored them for me since you weren't ready to see them."
"But we never spoke of this. How did you know I wasn't ready?"
"Because you never mentioned it," Holmes said simply. "When we passed the shops during our walks, you said nothing. If you had been ready, you would have noticed the shops and their contents."
I was stung by the truth of his words and flushed with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Holmes," I said, though the lump my throat hardly allowed the words to escape. "You should not have had to make these preparations alone."
"Not quite alone," Holmes corrected with a small smile. "Mrs. Hudson was quite invaluable."
The incongruity of Holmes consulting Mrs. Hudson about baby clothes lightened my spirits somewhat and I said. "Tell me about what you've gotten."
From the trunk Holmes showed me what seemed like endless gowns and caps along with a few rattles and other toys for a little later. The basket was filled with nappies. "I thought having this many was rather excessive, but Mrs. Hudson assures me we will need a large number." I refrained from commenting but suspected Mrs. Hudson was correct.
Holmes' anticipation for our child was evident as he showed me everything and I felt a renewed sense of guilt that I had not been willing or able to share it with him sooner. But Holmes did not seem to hold it against me, and when I said something about it, he said only, "In the end it will not matter."
He is altogether too forgiving.
~~~
I feel restless almost continually and chafe at my restrictions. I long to get up and pace, just to give this energy some sort of outlet, even an unproductive one. Holmes has been kind and taken me to the bath twice in the last three days and has rubbed me down every day in hopes of soothing my restlessness, but still the desire to move about the room is almost a physical itch.
Yet I resist, for I am still eight days away from the point at which the child can safely be born.
~~~
I fear I am in labor, though it is still at least two days too soon.
I held out hope that the pains I have been feeling are merely false pains, but over the last two hours they have become too regular to dismiss. I suppose it could be too early to determine that for certain since the contractions are still twenty minutes apart, but I feel certain this is it.
I have been trying to rest--it is, after all, about half past two in the morning and even Holmes is slumbering--but the sense of anticipation is too great. Our hopes will soon be realized and it is a wonderful and frightening thing.
I am tempted to get out of bed in order to hurry it along, but Holmes is sleeping between me and the edge of the bed and I do not want to wake him just yet. He would insist upon fetching the midwife and I suspect it will be hours yet before that step is necessary.
~~~
It has been twelve hours and there has been very little change. I have remained abed because Holmes insisted, but now I have finally let him go for the midwife so I think I shall finally pace a bit. It couldn't hurt, not now.
~~~
It is well and truly over, and our son is two days old. Now that I have gotten a bit of sleep, I thought it appropriate to finish this account, though for what purpose I'm not yet certain.
Getting up and pacing was a questionable proposition--my legs weren't steady under my weight after the extended bed rest--but it worked rather too well to bring on the birth. By the time Holmes returned with the midwife, the contractions were a mere five minutes apart rather than the fifteen-minute span I had when Holmes left, and I was on my hands and knees on the floor, shaking and sweating with the pain.
The details after that are rather blurred, though I do remember Holmes supporting me while I squatted and pushed. Our son was born just before four in the afternoon--or so Holmes has informed me--and to my relief he seems as healthy as he can be despite his early arrival.
Now that he is here, I finally feel the joy that has been been evident in Holmes' countenance for months. It comforts me to have him in my arms even though I know the challenges of raising him have only just begun.
Not to mention the challenge of naming him. Perhaps by the time he is a week old we will have negotiated our list down to just one name.
But for now he is sleeping in Holmes' arms and Holmes is watching him with a look of wonder he has only ever bestowed upon me. I find I do not mind no longer being the sole recipient of that expression, for I feel that same wonder when I consider this life we have created.
Rating: PG
Wordcount: ~7,400
Warnings: references to miscarriage/child loss and fear of the same
Characters: Watson, Holmes (H/W), a little bit of Mrs. Hudson, OFC
Summary: Watson records his thoughts and worries during a pregnancy with an uncertain outcome.
A/N: Written for the shkinkmeme prompt: One day, Watson starts to bleed (whether it's from physical trauma or just starts to have pain and starts to bleed) and realizes that he has had a miscarriage. He doesn't tell Holmes.
Some time later, Watson finds himself pregnant again and this time Holmes knows (and is rather excited about becoming a father). Watson has another miscarriage.
After several miscarriages, Watson is finally able to conceive a child and it starts to look like the child might make it to term (maybe it's the longest child Watson has been pregnant with).
Basically, I'd like to see a tread carefully sort of pregnancy.
-Also written for my hc_bingo squares "difficult pregnancy" and "insomnia" (for the cross-square bonus)
-Written with some aspects of the Granada series in mind (e.g. room layouts), but can be read as strictly book canon.
For some years Holmes and I indulged in carnal relations with full knowledge that such activities may result in a child thanks to my somewhat unusual physiology. We did not actively seek that result, but neither did we endeavor to prevent it, for we were willing to accept it if fate called us to be parents.
We had been intimate for something like two years when I first recognized the early signs and symptoms, but I did not even have time enough to break the news to Holmes before I began to bleed and recognized that the pregnancy was, for whatever reason, not viable.
It is possible that occurred on several more occasions, early enough that there were no symptoms aside from bleeding later than I should have. I did not inform Holmes on any of these occasions.
The next time I developed the symptoms of pregnancy, they remained persistent for some weeks, long enough to be sure of the diagnosis and inform Holmes. Holmes was in a state of disbelief at first, evidently having assumed we could not have a child since years had passed without that result, but he quickly accepted the idea and was overjoyed at the prospect.
Barely a fortnight after I told him, the bleeding started. Holmes was upset, of course, but his mind is too rational to dwell on the might-have-beens. Mine was not. I had feared such an outcome, but I had sincerely hoped this time would go well and was distraught that it had not. I had always thought I would end up having children one way or another, but now I began to doubt whether I was truly capable of bearing a child.
It took some time before I was willing to allow Holmes' advances on my person after that; I could not bear it if I lost another so soon.
But I did not, for the simple reason that I evidently did not conceive. The months came and went like clockwork and nothing happened despite our continued closeness.
Then came Holmes' apparent death. I was inconsolable, barely able to keep going through the motions of day-to-day living, and I do not know what might have become of me if not for Mrs. Hudson's gentle care and prodding. I am somewhat embarrassed to admit that my mental state at the time prevented me from recognizing what should have been obvious, so I had nearly completed my first trimester before I even realized I was pregnant.
Oh, how I longed for that child to console me in my grief! I was exceedingly careful about everything: what I ate, how much I slept, how often I took a little exercise, and for a while all seemed well.
But in time, I lost that child as I had lost the others. It would not be an exaggeration to say that I was devastated. I . . .
I still cannot speak of it.
With the death of Holmes and what would have been our child, so too died any hope I had for children.
I thought no more of children after Holmes' miraculous return, presuming we were both close enough to middle age that there was no reason to expect that outcome any longer.
Nearly a year after Holmes returned and startled me senseless in my study, I began to suspect with some horror that I had again conceived.
Yes, horror. I knew all too well the odds were not in my favor to begin with, due to my age, and with my history . . . a negative outcome was almost certain. No amount of wishing or hoping could change those facts.
I grew ever more anxious as days turned into weeks and still the pregnancy continued. I kept it from Holmes for as long as I could.
My worry interfered with my sleep, and the fatigue in combination with the worry affected my appetite. Some nights I lay awake for hours, my thoughts always treading the same paths; I would turn away from Holmes so my restlessness didn't disturb him, but I think sometimes he was awake and watching me, perhaps hoping I would confess what troubled me.
One morning following a particularly bad night, I was so slow in rising that Holmes was already seated and eating when I finally opened the door to the sitting room. Holmes greeted me without looking up from the paper and I was about to reply when the smell of bacon struck me like a blow. The scent of bacon was the one thing I absolutely could not tolerate while pregnant, and I could almost feel the blood draining from my face as the gorge started to rise in my throat. I staggered to the bathroom and began heaving the paltry contents of my stomach into the commode.
Holmes was quick to follow me, though he did not speak. When I flushed away what little I had brought up, he handed me a glass of water. When I finished that, he gently helped me stand and steered me toward the bedroom--I was grateful to note he had closed the sitting room door.
Only once I was seated on the bed and he had settled beside me, my hands cradled in his, did he say, "Should I call a doctor?"
"No," I said quickly.
"So you are not ill, you have merely worried yourself into illness."
"I suppose you could say that," I conceded, looking away from his concerned gaze.
"One of my conjectures was that you were ill and fearful of telling me, but it seems that is not the case."
"No, I am not ill."
"But you are not yourself, either."
"Not quite myself, no," I said, trying to laugh and failing miserably. "I am pregnant."
His hands squeezed mine until I looked up at his face once more. "But that is wonderful! Why didn't you tell me?"
A large lump formed in my throat as I saw the joy on his face. "Because I'm going to lose it like the others."
A frown briefly creased his face. "I know of only one. How many others have there been?"
I had to close my eyes. "Three for certain, and perhaps more that were not present long enough to be sure. The last of the three was after you . . . left."
"My dear Watson," he murmured, releasing my hands and embracing me instead. As I leaned against him, I realized with some embarrassment that there were tears on my cheeks. I wiped them away on the shoulder of his dressing gown.
It was several minutes before he spoke again. "When you say you will lose this child, is that based on past occurrences or is it the opinion of a specialist?"
"I have not seen a specialist," I admitted.
"Then there is still hope," Holmes said confidently.
I did not have the heart to tell him the many reasons for my despair.
He persuaded me to remain in the bedroom while he brought my breakfast--without any bacon--and sat with me while I ate a small portion. Then he insisted that I lie down to rest and he lay alongside me so we were pressed together from shoulder to ankle.
Somehow, I managed to sleep for a few hours.
At Holmes' insistence, I contacted the midwife I had engaged while he was absent and requested an appointment. To my surprise, she did not immediately reach my conclusion and instead voiced the opinion that there was a reasonable chance that this child could survive, provided that I was careful about my activities.
Holmes was satisfied, I could tell by his expression. I was not and voiced my concerns. The midwife sat on a stool so she could look me in the eye as I sat on her examination couch. "All of those things were true the previous time as well. Despite that outcome, I am confident in your success for one reason: this time you are not grieving."
I looked down at my hands as my face heated and I felt Holmes' hand gripping my shoulder in support and a silent apology. I do not know if he will ever feel he has apologized enough for those years, though I have long since forgiven him.
That evening Holmes insisted we go to a concert, followed by a light supper at a restaurant and a leisurely stroll about Regent's Park. If his aim was distraction, he succeeded.
But I still woke in the night feeling sick to my stomach and damp with sweat.
~~~
Once again I am awake in the wee hours of the morning. Holmes is away on a case--he has been for three days and he has not yet sent word that he is returning--so I must occupy myself as I can.
Thus this account. I began it two nights ago, as a way to pass the time and in hopes that putting my fears onto paper would give them less power in my mind.
So far no such luck.
It has been five weeks since that first visit to the midwife and the child yet lives within me.
As of this morning, this is the longest I have been able to remain pregnant. Two more weeks and I shall be halfway to completion.
Yesterday was . . . difficult. I continue to feel ill almost continually, and the anxiety of reaching the point where I lost our previous child meant that I could not eat, could not read, and most certainly could not sleep. The midwife, recognizing the import of the day, paid me a visit and assured me yet again that I was doing as well as could be expected. She stayed much longer than was necessary; I suspect she felt sorry for me having to pass this time alone.
She even convinced me to escort her back to her consulting room, as exercise might help my appetite or tire me enough to sleep. The weather was pleasant enough that I took a meandering route home. I ate very little dinner--though perhaps without the exertion I would have eaten nothing--but even as the evening wore on my weariness never resulted in sleep.
I could not even focus on continuing this account. I spent a while in the bath, waiting for sharp pains that never came. After that I slowly paced the sitting room, thinking of Holmes as I passed his chemical table or his chair or the spot where he would lean against the mantelpiece when he was thinking. Thoughts of Holmes were preferable by far to the other thoughts that haunted my every step.
I intentionally did not tell Holmes what date was looming when he was deciding whether to accept his current case. When he hesitated at leaving me behind--I am too tired to be of much use as a companion and I did not think travel would be wise--I encouraged him to go. I reasoned that he would wish to remain close to me as the pregnancy advanced, so this may be his last opportunity to accept a case out of town for some time.
So he went, and I was alone. But I managed and Mrs. Hudson has been exceedingly kind, as always. Perhaps by the time Holmes returns I will no longer be so preoccupied by what occurred in his absence.
~~~
Holmes returned early this afternoon after a week away, the circles under his eyes making it seem like he'd been awake that whole time and his manner utterly devoid of the manic energy he has during his cases. I rose from my chair to greet him, intending to bundle him off to bed at the first opportunity. As soon as he saw me he said, "My dear Watson, you look terrible."
Even while he spoke, I realized I no longer had control of my limbs and my knees buckled. As my vision narrowed I saw Holmes drop his satchel and leap toward me.
When I returned to myself, Holmes' worried face was mere inches from mine. "Welcome home," I said wryly and tried to sit up.
He set his hands on my shoulders to keep me still. "Are you well?" he demanded.
"I merely stood up too fast," I assured him.
"Then why do you look like you've been ill?" he asked, helping me sit up and holding my arm while I gingerly climbed back up onto my chair.
"I could say the same of you."
"We both know what I have been doing," Holmes rightly pointed out. "But what of you?"
"Nothing worse than usual," I said. "And I was concerned about you. It seems I was right to worry." It was not the whole truth, but there was truth in it.
Holmes frowned. "You had nothing to be concerned about."
"Then why do you look like you're ready to collapse?"
"I may have kept abnormally long hours in order to conclude the matter more quickly," Holmes admitted ruefully.
"And skipped many meals too, I'll wager," I teased gently.
Holmes gave me a sheepish look.
"Is Mrs. Hudson going to bring something up for you?" It was barely a half hour after lunch so she would still have the food out.
"No. I told her I'd wait until teatime."
I gave him my best disapproving look. "Then you have time for a nap."
"Only if you'll join me."
"Naturally." Our negotiations thus easily concluded, Holmes carefully helped me up, then retrieved his bag and followed me into the bedroom.
We were both weary enough to fall asleep readily and spent most of the afternoon resting in one another's company.
Only after Holmes had eaten a sandwich and had two cups of tea did I ask him for the story of his week. We passed a quiet and comfortable evening and had a simple dinner, then retired to bed early.
Lying in the dark in Holmes' embrace, I considered telling him about the milestone I had just passed, but I hesitated. I'm not a superstitious person in general, yet I fear speaking of it would lead to something happening.
Holmes is still sleeping like the dead, thoroughly exhausted by his trying week. I think I shall rejoin him in a moment; though the nap seems to have satisfied my need for sleep for now, being near him seems to keep my mind from worrying quite so much.
Now that I have begun this, I suppose I ought to continue it until . . . well, until something happens either way. A journal of sorts. And if things come to a bitter end, I can always burn it.
~~~
Naturally, as soon as I decided to keep this account as a journal, something happened to prevent me from maintaining it.
Holmes has been ill for nearly three weeks. The morning after his return, he woke with what seemed to be a bit of a cold. It worsened during the day and Holmes haunted our rooms like a congested ghost, a blanket clutched about his shoulders over his dressing gown and used handkerchiefs erupting from his pockets and trailing in his wake. I tried to convince him to stay in bed but he was restless and refused. I let him be, for I was too tired to argue, but I did insist that he eat something at mealtimes and go to bed at a decent hour--and in those things I had Mrs. Hudson's full support.
When Holmes did lie down that night, he was troubled by coughing that persisted so long as he was lying flat. We solved the problem with a pile of pillows that he reclined against, and he quickly fell into an uneasy sleep.
Holmes' illness continued to worsen the second day, and I began to fear it was something more serious than the bad cold Holmes claimed it to be. That he was, at the very least, feeling decidedly unwell was borne out by the fact that he went to bed that night without any hint of prompting. I checked on him before he fell asleep and found he had developed a fever and could not breathe at all through his nose.
The night the coughing returned despite Holmes being propped on the pillows. Concerned by this development, I carefully listened to his breathing and his coughing, but found no signs of pneumonia.
The fourth morning he woke up and could speak only in a strangled whisper that was painful to hear. I commanded him to remain in bed for the day and he didn't argue.
The details after that are hazy, for the days that followed were all so similar that they didn't seem distinct even at the time. There were moments Holmes could hardly breathe due to the coughing and the congestion, when I fretted about him choking or ceasing to breathe entirely. There were even more moments when all Holmes could do was lie limply on the bed, his sharp eyes dulled by the fever and his restless hands for once utterly still. He--and I--slept in snatches regardless of the time of day and I periodically took his temperature and pulse and listened to his lungs with my stethoscope.
Despite his continued illness, and despite how terrible his coughs were to listen to, Holmes somehow escaped the scourge of pneumonia developing in his ailing lungs.
Mrs. Hudson was a gem through it all, ensuring Holmes had a steady supply of clean handkerchief and gently reminding me to eat whether or not Holmes consumed much.
Though in retrospect it seems that I had plenty of time to think and worry about those things that have troubled me for weeks, I find that I was so focused on Holmes' condition that I gave very little thought to my own.
It was not far from Holmes' mind, however.
When he'd been ill for nearly two weeks, I was bent over him with my stethoscope yet again when he gripped my wrist abruptly and said urgently in his whispered voice, "Watson, you should not be near me. What if you should become ill?"
I patted his hand and gently laid it back on the bed. "It's far too late to protect myself in that way, and I promise you I'm quite all right," I assured him.
But all my reassurances have not stopped him from demanding at least once a day, "Are you well?" It would be frustrating if Holmes were healthy, but hearing his hoarse whisper only reminds me that we have been lucky in how his illness progressed. It easily could have been so much worse.
He continues to improve, to my relief, but his cough still sounds awful so I still listen to his breathing at least once a day. This afternoon I sat back against the pillows next to Holmes after once again not hearing anything of concern in his lungs, and the end of my stethoscope bumped against my stomach. I realized that I passed the midway point while worrying over Holmes and I had a sudden, strange thought.
I waited until Holmes dozed off before I acted on my idea. Even with Holmes asleep I was too self-conscious to do it in his presence, so I went into the sitting room and sat on the settee. Only once I was certain my activity could not be seen from Holmes' doorway or the doorway into the hall did I unfasten my trousers to reveal the growing lump in my lower abdomen.
I could hardly breathe as I pressed the end of the stethoscope against my skin and listened. At first I heard nothing. I moved the chest piece around the lump in small increments, not certain if there was anything to listen for. Just as I was about to give up, I heard it.
It was faint and rapid and unmistakably there: the heartbeat of the child within me.
A slight adjustment made it more clearly audible and I sat back as wonder overtook me. It was alive, and I now had a way to verify that when I was worried. It was alive despite all my troubles with the others. It was alive in spite of my worry and stomach troubles and inability to sleep. Most of all, it was alive.
I felt light-headed and realized I had been holding my breath.
"Watson?" Holmes' voice croaked from much closer than it should've been, considering I'd left him asleep in the next room. He shuffled over and sat beside me.
"You shouldn't be out of bed," I scolded.
He ignored me and asked, "What are you doing?"
I was certain he had already determined what I was doing by taking in my open trousers and the stethoscope in my hands, so I removed the earpieces and offered them to him. "Listen."
He had to bend over to do so, but he didn't seem to mind. It took a moment, but abruptly he went utterly still and he made a small noise of surprise. "Marvelous," he murmured. His admiration was cut short by a coughing fit. When he could breathe again, he said, "The beats are quite regular, so it seems healthy."
"I don't know how it's supposed to sound, but yes, at least it's regular. Now go back to bed before you make your fever worse. I'll be there in a moment."
Holmes fell asleep again before I could join him in the bed, so I have spent some few minutes bringing this account up to date. I was going to join him in a nap, but it's nearly dinner time, so I will have to wake him instead. Now that he's starting to recover I'm going to insist that he return to some sort of eating schedule.
~~~
Holmes will scold me for writing this, but it seems the price of feeling better is the return of the insomnia.
But I should begin at the beginning. Just as Holmes was finally recovering, I came down with a cold. It truly was only a cold, nothing nearly as sinister as what Holmes had suffered, but Holmes has been quite strict about me staying abed and resting for the last week and a half. For at least part of the time I didn't mind it much, since I felt exhausted, but the rest of the time has been a trial upon my nerves.
The midwife paid us a visit a few days ago--it had been weeks since I'd seen her--and she was satisfied with everything except my appetite. Fortunately that seems to be returning along with my sense of smell, though I will be cautious until I'm certain my stomach upset will not return.
I almost thought it had this evening, for there was a strange feeling in my stomach following dinner. But then I realized it was like no queasiness I had ever experienced . . . no, it could only be the first fluttering movements of the child. I would not have arrived at that conclusion if the midwife had not mentioned it during her visit, but now that I put the name to it, it didn't feel like it could be anything else.
I must have had a strange expression on my face, judging by the alarm in Holmes' voice when he demanded to know what was the matter. When I told him, he was rather put out that he wouldn't be able to feel it from the outside. That didn't stop him from trying to discern the movement with my stethoscope, of course, but he met with no success.
Now that I have felt it once, I feel it almost constantly, a gentle fluttering within me, and I silently beg and plead that it might never stop.
~~~
My trousers no longer button. Between my ravenous appetite of late and the growth of the child, the roundness of my stomach makes wearing my old clothing quite impossible. Holmes obtained some larger clothing for me--since I could not venture out myself in such a state of undress--so I least I do not have to worry about revealing too much of myself. The clothes are not flattering, though, so while I am not so large as to draw stares on the street, I prefer not to go out unless in the forgiving light of dusk.
At that hour I only draw stares if I faint, as I did today. It is only luck that I wasn't in the middle of the street at the time; Holmes was able to steer my collapse onto a convenient set of front steps, so I was not in the way while regaining consciousness.
We returned home as soon as I could stand even though we had only just begun our evening stroll. Holmes is quite worried, for this is either the fifth or sixth time I have collapse in such a manner, though all but this occasion occurred in our rooms. Truthfully, I frequently find myself light-headed, and not always at the times when being so would make sense. I can only hope it is a strange side effect of the child's growth.
~~~
Since I have been faithful about recording my troubles and worries, I thought it only proper to record that I am presently feeling better than I have since the pregnancy began. If it weren't for this dratted insomnia, I could call myself quite comfortable, but the weariness casts a pall over even the brightest of days. Even so, I am mercifully free of the stomach upsets and the headaches and everything else that came before, and I haven't fainted for several days either.
The midwife tells me to enjoy it while it lasts, since the child's growth will soon lead to new discomforts. But for now I am content and can almost feel hopeful that all this will end well.
My anxiety has eased a good deal thanks to the movements and the heartbeat that confirm the child yet lives.
Eased, that is, but not disappeared. I don't know if I will ever be rid of the anxiety entirely, for there are a whole host of ills that could still befall our child.
Holmes would tell me I am being irrational and I know that I am, but I cannot seem to keep such things from my mind in the dark hours of the night when Holmes and the child sleep and I am awake.
~~~
Holmes has not left my side all day.
Early this morning I was dozing in his embrace while he slowly rubbed my stomach--sometimes that helps me drop off to sleep for a few precious hours. The child was wakeful and active and abruptly struck out with some force right beneath one of Holmes' hands.
"I felt that," Holmes said with apparent shock.
"It was a good one," I murmured sleepily. I moved his hand to where the child continued to drum against my insides. "Do you feel that?"
"Yes." Holmes pressed a kiss to my nape and tightened his embrace, carefully keeping his hand over the child's movement.
Holmes has been careful to be within reach of me ever since, and at first his hovering was frustrating. Then I remembered that he was only now able to feel what I have been feeling for weeks. So I've humored him, taking his hand and setting it in the appropriate place when I thought the kicks were vigorous enough to feel from outside.
He even remained close when I laid down for my morning and afternoon naps on the settee. In the afternoon I roused from a light sleep to find Holmes sitting on the floor beside me, brandishing my stethoscope.
"He wasn't moving, so I'm listening instead."
I ran my fingers through Holmes' hair, hearing the unspoken worry in his words. "It must rest sometimes, just as we do," I said.
"I determined as much. There is a slight decrease in the heartbeat when he is still."
"That is good to know." I had not noticed such a difference, but Holmes always has been more observant.
Then he asked why I refer to our child as 'it' rather than 'he' or 'she' (Holmes is certain it is a boy, but is willing to humor me should I have the opposite opinion). I don't think I explained very well, for he didn't seem convinced.
What it comes down to is this: if I think of the child as a son or daughter, I will naturally begin to think about his or her future--my mind is quite capable of inventing scenarios both good and bad. If I allow myself to think of the child's future, it will be that much more difficult to accept if something happens before or during the birth. I do not even think so far ahead as the birth, some ten weeks away if all goes well, because that would be taking the intervening weeks for granted.
I can take nothing for granted.
I am grateful for each day that its heart beats and its body tumbles about within mine; I cannot look any farther ahead than that. Life is so uncertain and gives no guarantees.
Only when I have reached the point where the child could survive independently will I be able to think of the future. Childbirth has its own dangers, of course, but somehow I am not so worried about those as what might occur between now and then.
~~~
The child is growing so quickly now, it's astonishing . . . and uncomfortable. I have passed into the period where the child interferes with my body's normal functions. My back aches from the added weight and sitting down and standing up have become an exercise in balance or I shall topple over. I feel ill if I eat more than a small amount at one time--this is rather like my earlier trouble--and my feet have developed a tendency to swell when I am on them for any length of time. The skin of my abdomen is frequently itchy and has developed numerous angry red marks from being so stretched. And I am often tired; that, at least, has not changed.
I also feel I should not say much about my discomfort--this condition is, after all, something I longed for on numerous occasions. But I was younger then, and now I sometimes wonder how much more of this I can bear, feeling so achy and ungainly and short of breath.
Holmes always seems to know when I am in such a mood--it's probably not difficult for him to discern, for I become quite snappish--and he bundles me off to the bathtub to soak away the aches and the itching. When I'm finished in the tub, he carries me off to bed and strokes my sensitized skin with oiled hands while murmuring soothing words into my ear. These occasions so frequently end with Holmes buried deep within me or his mouth around me that just feeling his hands upon my stomach can stir me quite quickly.
This evening was one of these occasions, and as Holmes fell asleep beside me and the child moved within me, I felt thankful. Each day I endure these inconveniences is one day closer to when the child will be able to survive on its own. My minor discomforts are well worth the trouble, especially with Holmes here to remind me that there are still pleasures to be had in my current state.
~~~
We had a terrible scare today.
My back began aching fiercely sometime during the night, so when I tried to rise this morning, it was difficult to stand or even move. I also felt a nagging discomfort in my stomach as if I had eaten something that disagreed with me, though I had no idea what I might have consumed that would cause such a reaction.
That impression was reinforced by the nausea brought on by the smell of breakfast, and I retreated to the bedroom as quickly as I could manage, followed by Holmes with a cup of tea and some toast. I tried to eat, but was soon convinced that doing so would only upset things further.
I spent the morning curled miserably in bed, gradually becoming aware of a periodic cramping of my insides. I made several trips to the bathroom but still the cramping continued, and I found myself glad that the midwife was due to check on me in the afternoon.
The hours dragged by and Holmes hovered over me anxiously, finally suggesting that he ought to fetch the midwife early. When I refused he joined me in bed, curling up with me, a warm and silent presence.
He leapt up when the bell rang at last, and hurried to meet her on the stairs. He must have told her about my discomfort, for she looked unhappy when she came into the bedroom.
She looked even unhappier after I answered a multitude of questions and she had spent a while feeling my abdomen. "You should have sent for me hours ago. You are in early labor."
"But it's too early," I protested.
"That means very little to the child," she said as she poured a glass of water and handed it to me. "Drink."
She had me drink one glass every ten minutes for an hour and a half, until I was certain I would have to spend the next several hours in the bathroom. But, somehow, that worked to stop the cramping. She seemed relieved when I passed a half hour without having another cramp, but she remained for another hour to be certain.
When she left, she gave me strict instructions: "If you value your life and the child's, you will drink plenty of water and you won't move from this bed until after the birth. If you so much as stand up, you could bring on labor again and I will not be responsible for what happens to either of you." She also said something to Holmes that made him blush, so I suspect I know what it was.
I still haven't quite gotten used to the idea that I will spend the next six weeks in this bed. Holmes has promised to help me in every possible way, but I fear we will both soon be suffering from utter boredom.
~~~
Two weeks in, we aren't utterly bored just yet. Much of the credit for that goes to Holmes, who has shown a good deal of ingenuity in getting around the fact that I should remain in bed.
I insisted that we establish a routine, mostly so I remember to eat and drink every few hours and so Holmes doesn't forget to eat at all, so the routine includes mealtimes and naptimes and time for other activities. Holmes has filled that extra time by bringing boxes of old notes into the bedroom under the pretense that I can help him sort through them; I say it's a pretense because he has never yet been reluctant to answer my questions about the cases so vaguely described on the pages.
He even told me the story of the Giant Rat of Sumatra, but has made me promise with the most solemn oaths that I will not write of it. A shame, for it is quite an astonishing story. Others he has told me I have already begun writing, though I do not think all of them will be fit for print.
When we tire of the papers and boxes, Holmes will sometimes carry me down the hall so I can have a bath and disobey, in the strictest sense, the command not to move from bed, but Holmes made quite a mess when he tried to help me sponge myself down while in bed and I had to be moved anyway so the sheets could be changed. Once or twice he has taken me into the sitting room to lie upon the settee for a change of scene.
Even with the routine and Holmes' varied attempts at diversion, there are still times that I wallow in my thoughts and feel rather uncomfortable and frustrated with my predicament and anxious and self-conscious about all of the ways my body has changed and grown. Some enlargement is expected, certainly about the abdomen and even to some extent in the chest as the tissues there become swollen with milk in anticipation of nursing the child. You would not expect my feet to swell now that I am never upon them, yet they do, and sometimes even my hands and face feel puffy and I do not like it and wish it to stop.
Holmes assured me that my features look just as attractive as they always have, but he is quite biased on that subject and I do not, in this instance, take his words as the unvarnished truth. Mrs. Hudson is a more reliable informant, and she tells me that I do not look as terrible as I think, and anyhow these things happen when one is in such a condition and they are always temporary. This does not reassure me as much as she thinks but I appreciate the honesty.
The midwife concurs with Mrs. Hudson and assures me that I am doing as well as could be expected under the circumstances. That isn't reassuring. Neither is the fact that the child has already moved into the birthing position, or so she said this afternoon. She also said that wasn't unusual at this stage, a sign of the coming birth just as the false pains are. I am not worried by the false pains because they do not feel the same as the early labor did, but she cautioned me to pay close attention and send for her immediately if I have concerns.
Approximately four weeks remain for my term to reach completion, but the midwife says the child could arrive in a fortnight and suffer no ill effects for being somewhat early. Being told how close we are to the end has made me realize that we have utterly neglected to prepare for the child's arrival. I said as much to Holmes after the midwife left and he hesitated before responding, an odd look on his face.
"You have neglected it, perhaps," he said cryptically. "Excuse me for a moment."
He left, closing the door behind him. I burned with curiosity as I heard footsteps going up and down the stairs and the thump of things being set down on the floor in the hallway.
When the bedroom door opened again, Holmes backed into the room, gingerly inching a small piece of furniture through the doorway with Mrs. Hudson directing from the other side. As soon as it was clear of the door, Holmes picked it up and set it near the bed: a cradle, filled with small baby blankets and possibly several cushions--it was difficult to tell from where I was sitting.
While I was peering at the cradle, Holmes brought in a small trunk and set it near my feet on the bed and Mrs. Hudson set a basket next to the cradle. Then Mrs. Hudson left us, closing the door behind her.
"Oh, Holmes," I said, overwhelmed. "How long have you had these things?"
"I began collecting them a few months ago. Mrs. Hudson kindly stored them for me since you weren't ready to see them."
"But we never spoke of this. How did you know I wasn't ready?"
"Because you never mentioned it," Holmes said simply. "When we passed the shops during our walks, you said nothing. If you had been ready, you would have noticed the shops and their contents."
I was stung by the truth of his words and flushed with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Holmes," I said, though the lump my throat hardly allowed the words to escape. "You should not have had to make these preparations alone."
"Not quite alone," Holmes corrected with a small smile. "Mrs. Hudson was quite invaluable."
The incongruity of Holmes consulting Mrs. Hudson about baby clothes lightened my spirits somewhat and I said. "Tell me about what you've gotten."
From the trunk Holmes showed me what seemed like endless gowns and caps along with a few rattles and other toys for a little later. The basket was filled with nappies. "I thought having this many was rather excessive, but Mrs. Hudson assures me we will need a large number." I refrained from commenting but suspected Mrs. Hudson was correct.
Holmes' anticipation for our child was evident as he showed me everything and I felt a renewed sense of guilt that I had not been willing or able to share it with him sooner. But Holmes did not seem to hold it against me, and when I said something about it, he said only, "In the end it will not matter."
He is altogether too forgiving.
~~~
I feel restless almost continually and chafe at my restrictions. I long to get up and pace, just to give this energy some sort of outlet, even an unproductive one. Holmes has been kind and taken me to the bath twice in the last three days and has rubbed me down every day in hopes of soothing my restlessness, but still the desire to move about the room is almost a physical itch.
Yet I resist, for I am still eight days away from the point at which the child can safely be born.
~~~
I fear I am in labor, though it is still at least two days too soon.
I held out hope that the pains I have been feeling are merely false pains, but over the last two hours they have become too regular to dismiss. I suppose it could be too early to determine that for certain since the contractions are still twenty minutes apart, but I feel certain this is it.
I have been trying to rest--it is, after all, about half past two in the morning and even Holmes is slumbering--but the sense of anticipation is too great. Our hopes will soon be realized and it is a wonderful and frightening thing.
I am tempted to get out of bed in order to hurry it along, but Holmes is sleeping between me and the edge of the bed and I do not want to wake him just yet. He would insist upon fetching the midwife and I suspect it will be hours yet before that step is necessary.
~~~
It has been twelve hours and there has been very little change. I have remained abed because Holmes insisted, but now I have finally let him go for the midwife so I think I shall finally pace a bit. It couldn't hurt, not now.
~~~
It is well and truly over, and our son is two days old. Now that I have gotten a bit of sleep, I thought it appropriate to finish this account, though for what purpose I'm not yet certain.
Getting up and pacing was a questionable proposition--my legs weren't steady under my weight after the extended bed rest--but it worked rather too well to bring on the birth. By the time Holmes returned with the midwife, the contractions were a mere five minutes apart rather than the fifteen-minute span I had when Holmes left, and I was on my hands and knees on the floor, shaking and sweating with the pain.
The details after that are rather blurred, though I do remember Holmes supporting me while I squatted and pushed. Our son was born just before four in the afternoon--or so Holmes has informed me--and to my relief he seems as healthy as he can be despite his early arrival.
Now that he is here, I finally feel the joy that has been been evident in Holmes' countenance for months. It comforts me to have him in my arms even though I know the challenges of raising him have only just begun.
Not to mention the challenge of naming him. Perhaps by the time he is a week old we will have negotiated our list down to just one name.
But for now he is sleeping in Holmes' arms and Holmes is watching him with a look of wonder he has only ever bestowed upon me. I find I do not mind no longer being the sole recipient of that expression, for I feel that same wonder when I consider this life we have created.