Ashton Imagine: Pregnancy Gender Surprise
You smiled as you watched Ashton try to assemble the baby crib, his curly hair flopping onto his face as he re-read the manual for the fifth time, tools and parts scattered around him.
He looked so adorably confused, eyebrows furrowed as he sat cross-legged in the middle of the nursery, trying to decipher the manual before him.
"Do you need help, Ash?" You giggle, watching as a small frown started to form on his lips.
He shakes his head, a few loose curls escaping from his bandana and covering his eyes.
"Trust me, babe. I got this."
"You said that four tries ago, Ash."
"Fifth time’s the charm. Have a little faith."
You give him a doubtful look, and he merely sticks his tongue out at you.
He rolls up the sleeves of his baseball shirt a little more, exposing the tanned muscle underneath. He absentmindedly picks up the screwdriver next to him, muttering underneath his breath as he makes his way back to the mess of crib parts that he had half-assembled in the past hour.
You can’t help but to stare at your husband, who was now hammering away at a wooden leg with his tongue sticking out of his mouth in concentration - he was beautiful and sweet and he brought a smile to your face every day without a fail.
You could only hope that your baby could have a smile as beautiful as Ashton’s.
You absentmindedly rubbed your swollen stomach, a habit you had picked up ever since you found out about your pregnancy six months ago.
You still remembered when you saw the little symbols marking a positive; how Ashton’s smile put the sun to shame, how he picked you up and planted the sweetest kiss on your forehead, holding you close.
The sincerity of his words had reverberated in your bones, and all you could do was kiss him lightly on the lips, standing at the tips of your toes just to reach him.
No, thank you. For giving me the best opportunity I could ever ask for. For your love. For your miracle.
He had held against his chest and placed gentle kisses on the top of your head, whispering sweet nothings in your ear and tracing patterns on the small of your back.
You had put your head on his heart and felt his heartbeat ring with yours - and with the heartbeat of the new life in your stomach.
You and Ashton were more than ready to be parents - you were happily married and prepared for the next step in your life together, making plans and talking about dreams and hopes and wishes over dinner and before bed and in the early mornings.
But having it be confirmed, knowing that your dreams would be coming true in a matter of months - it made the two of you ecstatic.
You delighted in planning schedules and researching about this and that and choosing the best path for the life in your belly. You loved shopping for clothes and equipment for the new addition in your family - you and Ashton would run down the aisle like little kids, pulling this and that off the shelves and racks and playing with toys and wondering if your baby would love it as much as the two of you did.
You set aside all the toys and clothes and equipment in your house, everything sitting patiently, waiting for the arrival of the baby.
You loved finding out the size of the baby inside of you, and Ashton eagerly marked your growing stomach’s progress on the wall of your living room.
Just two more months to go, babe. We’re almost there - we’re so close.
He made sure you didn’t have to do any work - not if he could help it. Ashton fussed over you like a mother hen, giving you breakfast in bed and holding your arm whenever you walked and tying your shoelaces and holding your bags and massaging your sore feet. He’d cook dinner and do the cleaning, and even did the laundry - which he hated - while you sat and read a book or watched some television.
He made sure you were pampered and comfortable and happy, saying you were his queen and he promised to take care of you from now on until forever.
You worried for him, though - he’d collapse onto the bed at the end of every long day, worn and tired, and you’d have to remind him to take breaks during the day, telling him to rest his head on your shoulder and to just hold you and your baby for a moment before bustling away for the quick arrival.
Got to make everything perfect for my queen and princess.
He’d wink at you, dimples flashing, before getting back to work.
Ashton was so elated when the doctor told the two of you that it was a girl - you saw the tears starting to form in the corner of his eyes when the news was announced, and the tender words that he’d whisper to your growing stomach every night made your heart melt.
Daddy loves you, princess.
He’d kiss your stomach gently, rubbing it lightly before placing a delicate kiss on your forehead, whispering goodnight.
One more month, beautiful - one more month ‘till we can start this little family of ours.
Ashton was ecstatic , to say the least, during your last month of pregnancy - even more so than usual, which you didn’t think was possible.
He’d have this bounce in his step and a smile on his face and his happiness seeped out of him, uncontrollable. He went to the baby stores and insisted on getting everything ready for the arrival of the baby himself - he wouldn’t let you lift a finger, despite your protests.
You’ve got to take care of the baby - besides, this is daddy’s job.
He painted the nursery pink, getting splashes of pink paint all over his ripped tees and golden curls, coming back to you with splotches of paint on his nose. The room was haphazardly painted - you can almost pick out where Ashton tried to paint as he laughed at some stupid joke you made - but you loved it and smiled when he finished, covered in paint and standing proudly in the middle of the room, a mess all around him.
It looks perfect, Ash.
Do you think she’ll like it?
I think she’ll love it.
He built the dresser and the crib and he painstakingly assembled all the parts himself, scratching his head all afternoon and staying up late to complete it all. He arranged all the clothes neatly in their drawers and positioned all the toys around the room himself, making sure that everything was perfectly in its place.
He always took out time for a break though, cuddling with you throughout the day and occasionally playing with the toys to ‘test them out’.
Psst, this is Ashtronaut. The crib has been successfully assembled, I repeat the crib has been successfully assembled. Ashtronaut, over and out.
Ash, are you playing with the walkie-talkie again?
Psst, this is Ashtronaut. This is a vital testing process, love. Ashtronaut, over and out.
You merely watched and smiled as he did it all, a warmth bubbling through your body as Ashton prepared himself to be a dad, all with a smile on his face.
He’s enjoying it, you think - sometimes you catch Ashton standing in the completed nursery by himself, looking around the room he had worked so hard on, smiling to himself, and you wonder what’s going through that mind of his.
Sometimes he’d crawl over to your spot on the couch and plop himself next to you, gently rubbing your stomach and lazily wrapping his arms around you, his breath warm on your neck. You’d ask him if he was tired and he’d merely answer with I’d never be tired of being a dad, smiling sleepily up at you before dozing off a few minutes later.
And on the nights where Ashton stayed awake, you’d curl up with him on the bed that you shared, doodling on a piece of paper while the two of you thought of names. Ever since the doctor told you that your baby was a girl three months ago, you and Ashton had been coming up with names, playing with different sounds and meanings, often before the two of you went to sleep.
You could never agree on a name, and when you’d be lucky enough to settle on one that you thought would be alright, the two of you would always change your mind a few days later.
Why don’t we just call her Princess?
As a pet name, sure - but legally, I think she might hold a few grudges against us.
Why? I mean, I’d want to be called ‘princess’.
You can be a fairy princess if you want, Ash.
At the end of the day, the two of you decided that you’d pick out a name from the few selections you had after the baby was born - you agreed that you couldn’t pick a name before getting to know your little girl first.
Ashton marked the days down on your calendar, eagerly crossing off each day, getting closer and closer to the day you were expected to be due.
Princess is coming, babe - we’re going to be a family at last.
You remember the twisting pain in your abdomen in the middle of lunch, how Ashton yelped and hurried you to the car, driving you to the hospital like a madman.
Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god -
You were panicking and groaning in pain, holding your stomach and still in a state of shock even though you saw this coming nine months ago.
You just couldn’t believe it was happening.
And how much it hurt.
You’ll be fine, babe - just breathe, just breathe - in and out, just like that. Just breathe, you’re doing perfect.
The hospital trip was a blur of hysteria and trying to calm yourself and trying to bear with the pain all at once, and you were hardly aware of your surroundings until you were lying on the hospital bed surrounded by doctors and nurses.
Everyone was a frenzy of words and advice and all you could see were people with masks on their faces telling you to do this and that and nothing was sinking into your head except for the pain.
You searched for Ashton’s face among the masked faces and found his bright eyes, a few tufts of curls escaping the medical hat. You couldn’t see his lips but you could see the smile in his eyes, full of endearing support and love.
You can do it, babe. Come on, that’s my girl!
He gripped your hand and you’re pretty sure you might’ve broke his in the process, but he’s full of encouragement and having him by your side makes you feel stronger, despite the growing weariness in your body.
You cry out and you scream and you’re so tired and you feel like your body is being stretched from the inside out and you’re sore and panting and you can’t remember the last time you felt this worn out, but everyone keeps on telling you that you’re almost there and Ashton’s thumb is gently massaging your knuckles and you tell yourself to hold on for a few more minutes.
And after what feels like an eternity, you hear a cry that’s not your own and everyone’s cheering and you collapse onto the bed, exhausted.
You just manage to open your eyes enough to see a nurse in front of you hold a small bundle covered in bits of red, and you make out small hands waving in the air. You weakly reach out for it, and the nurse smiles, carrying the small bundle towards you.
Congratulations - it’s a healthy baby boy.
You barely register the words in your head, but when you hold the little bundle in your arm, you can’t help but to smile down at it - him.
My beautiful baby boy.
You’re taken aback by how small he his - he barely fits in your arms - and his eyes are wide and starting to blink, small hands reaching for you, forming tiny fists. You can see the smooth skin and the soft curves and dips of his tiny body, and a small tuft of curly hair growing from the top of his head.
It’s a boy, Ash. It’s a boy.
Ashton’s leaning down next to you, a soft smile on his lips, dimples in his cheeks. He’s sticking out his long index finger for the baby to play with, the baby’s small hands barely encircling Ashton’s large finger. Ashton gently tickles the baby’s stomach with his finger, his smile growing as he continues to watch the little bundle in your arms.
All the thoughts of a girl and a princess in pink disappears once you see Ashton and your son - you couldn’t ask for anything more, you wouldn’t want anything else - seeing your husband and your son brought a wave of warmth and content through your system despite your tiredness.
He’s perfect. Just like you.
You see Ashton’s smile grow even larger at your words as his eyes meets yours, an indefinable happiness radiating in his beam.
Our perfect family.
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