He doesn’t have much experience dealing with pregnant women, and he really didn’t think he ever would. The way he lived his life until the last couple years came around wasn’t suited to a girlfriend or a wife, and certainly not a baby. However, he’s trying.

You’re in the mid stages of your pregnancy, and so your symptoms have increased to an overwhelming level. He tries to help in any way he can, by gently sitting you down again whenever you get up—trying, and failing, to cook dinner—doing the laundry—but chores aren’t enough. You need comfort.

He sits with you on the couch, as the growing life inside of your stomach writhes and squirms, tiny feet thumping at your stomach and your ribs. He rubs his hand in gentle, soothing circles, as if to encourage your little hellspawn to settle down. “Shh, now,” He whispers to your bump, as his other hand caresses your hair. “You’re being a real pain in the ass for your Mom here, y’know that?”