Can we have a blurb where you are pregnant and you and niall fight about breastfeeding because you don't wanna do it.
“It’s my body, Niall! Why are you being like this?”
“Of course it’s your body, but it’s OUR baby! Why won’t you just talk to me about it?”
You slammed your dresser drawer shut hard enough to knock over one of the framed snapshots lining the top surface. You let out a sigh and rubbed your hand over your swollen belly. The argument over breast feeding had been going on for weeks. You’d talked with your doctor about it and she had assured you that it was your choice and that as long as the baby was being fed, that’s all that mattered. Niall however, had been appalled that you weren’t even willing to try nursing the baby. He’d been sending you links to medical journals and parenting blogs eschewing the benefits of breastmilk.
You straightened the collapsed frame and wiped at a few stray tears rolling down your cheeks. Looking down over your protruding belly, you trailed one of your equally swollen fingers down a fresh set of red stretch marks mapping out your skin like angry tributaries. You had a matching set of blue varicose veins on your ankles from the pressure of the baby, and last week you’d peed your pants. Twice. Niall was sat on the edge of the bed, his head cradled in his hands. He looked as handsome as the day you’d walked down the aisle nearly four years ago. The broad planes of his back were still smooth and dusted with freckles. His eyes still a bright bright blue that sparkled when he laughed. He could have any woman in the world. But he was stuck with you and all the collateral damage happening to your body.