Ugh, not again, you thought to yourself as you untangled yourself from your husband’s embrace on your left and your four-year-old daughter’s hug on your right. You shimmied out of bed and made a beeline to the bathroom where you immediately emptied the contents of your stomach, last night’s dinner of grilled cheese on display in the porcelain bowl. You stood to brush your teeth, when you felt someone tug at your sleeve. Thinking it was probably a concerned Francis, you turned directly behind you. After not seeing anyone, you went back to brushing your teeth. The hand tugged on your sleeve once more, this time you looked down to find your daughter, Renee. You knelt down to her level so that you could stare into the sparkling blue eyes, identical to your husband’s.
“Yes, honey?” She pouted with a worried expression adorning her chubby child face.
“Are you okay, Maman?*” You smiled before patting her (straight/curly) (h/c)-haired head.
“I’m fine, sweetie.” Her pout deepened.
“Then why are you throwing up? You say that I’m sick when I throw up.” You sighed at her ignorance.
“I’m fine, Renee.” You smiled and she couldn’t help but return it with a simper of her own.
“Okay, Maman!” Behind her relieved expression, the child was still concerned for her mother. You hushed her after her yell and looked back into the bedroom to see if Francis was asleep. He was knocked out, his blonde hair a tangled mess on the white pillow. You chuckled inwardly at the sight of his impeccably perfect hair a mess.
“Run along to your room and go get dressed since you woke up so early,” She smiled a toothy grin. “Can you do it all by yourself for Mama?” She nodded enthusiastically.
“Yes, madame*.” You smiled at her politeness and patted her head before sending her off. She ran off quickly, her (h/c) locks swaying with each step she took. You trudged back to bed slowly, trying not to irritate your stomach. You flopped back into your now cold side of the bed next to Francis. You heard a soft sigh and turned to see your husband now rousing from sleep. He smiled at you before looking around the bedroom area.
“Ou est notre petite fille*?” He stared expectantly, not realizing that you didn’t understand in his early morning drowsiness.
“Um, quoi*?” He was about to repeat the sentence when he realized that he was talking to his wife who only had a limited understanding of the French language.
“_______? Oh, yeah. I’m sorry, amoureaux*. Where’s Renee? Did she leave already, she said she ‘ad a really bad nightmare last night.” You smiled at the translation.
“She woke up when I went to the bathroom this morning, I sent her off to get dressed since she woke up so early.”
“More morning sickness, ma cherie*?” You nodded. Francis wrapped his arms around your four month pregnant belly and pulled you down into his burrow of blankets. After pressing you down to the mattress securely, he pressed little kisses on your stomach. “What do you want it to be, ______?”
“I don’t care for the gender, as long as the baby’s healthy, I’m fine.” Francis rolled his eyes before smiling and rubbing your belly.
“I want anozher petite fille*, perhaps one with your eyes this time.” You smiled.
“I’m going to assume the ‘petite fille’ means ‘girl’?” He nodded but tsked against your protruding tummy.
“It means ‘little girl’, _____.” You rolled your eyes before pulling yourself and your unborn child out of the Frenchman’s reach. He squeaked in surprise before pouting. “Where are you going?”
“To make breakfast like I do every morning.” He sighed before rolling out of bed, dressed in only his French flag boxers. You left for the kitchen, leaving the blonde to dress himself properly before coming downstairs to eat. Seeing as it was Saturday, Francis didn’t have to work and could relax with his family. After he was wearing a pair of simple black pants and a white button-up shirt, he opened the door to be greeted by big blue eyes not different from his own. He smiled before kneeling down to eye level with his daughter.
“Bonjour, Renee! ‘ow are you?” She grinned before frowning at the ground. The Frenchman’s smile soon turned into a frown mirroring his daughter’s. “What’s wrong? Are you feeling okay?” He placed a hand to her soft forehead. She looked up at him, her blue eyes on the brink of tears.
“Papa, I think there’s something wrong with Maman.” Francis blinked in surprise, but soon smiled at his child’s concern for her mother.
“Why do you think somezhing is wrong with her, petit*?” She wrapped her arms around her father’s knelt form as much as she could.
“I think she has a cold, Papa. She was throwing up this morning when I woke up.” He nodded, listening to every word. Why was _____ throwing up. Oh, pregnant. Morning sickness. Right. He chuckled at his mistake.
“Well, all mamans throw up when they’re having a baby, petit.” Her blue eyes popped open, enlarging to the size of dinner plates.
“All of them?”
“Oui*. Every single one, well I think… Besides, it’s just a side effect of having a baby.” She nodded in understanding.
“So Maman’s going to be okay?” He nodded slightly and pulled Renee in for a tight hug.
“She’ll be just fine. But, if you’re really that concerned, we can try to cheer her up.” She lifted her mop of (h/c) hair to glance in his eyes.
“Well, think of something Maman really likes. Then we’ll go from there.” The child sat, thinking of ways to cheer you up.
“Mama likes pickles and ice cream.” Francis paled at the mention of one of your latest cravings.
“Maybe somezhing else?” She thought again.
“Maman loves flowers, will that help?” Francis thought for a second and decided this was suitable.
“We’ll go to the florist’s today and pick up a card at the market later. I think she’ll like it, ma fille*.” She smiled at the plan. “Let’s go find Mama and tell her that we’re leaving.” He looked down at his daughter and saw she was indeed fully dressed; he looked at her (h/c) locks. Her (straight/curly) strands were a sight, everywhere on her head. “Let’s do your ‘air first, fille*.” She nodded once more. Francis considered asking you to help with her hair, but decided against it. He was no cosmetologist, but coming straight from Paris, he had a very good understanding of female hair, especially when it was the consistency of yours. He had braided your hair more times than he could count. He picked her up over his shoulder and carried her to the bed. He sat down first and sat her between his legs. He took three strands of her hair in the middle and began to pull one over the other and repeat until he had a simple, but nice, long braid down her back. “Okay, now that you’re fully ready, let’s go tell Mama that we’re leaving. Remember, fille, it’s a secret that we’re getting Mama a gift.” She pulled her thumb and her forefinger together and swiped them across her pink lips, successfully making a zipping motion. “Good.” The pair walked down the stairs to the kitchen where breakfast and you were waiting. On the table, there were three plates with eggs, sausage, and French toast.
“Morning, Mama! Everything looks so good!” Renee came at you full force with wide arms, this was typical of her, hugs at anytime (and every time) she saw you. You picked her up and wrapped your arms around your daughter.
“Morning, baby.” You kissed her cheek softly before putting her down. Francis saw this and nearly exploded with jealousy.
“Hey! I’m your husband, oui? Don’t I get a kiss?” You rolled your eyes before approaching him and pulling him in for a soft kiss.
“Oui.” He winked at you before rubbing your belly once more. The three of you sat down and ate in a comfortable silence. The silence was occasionally broken with comments or questions from the bubbly four-year-old, but she had stayed true to her word and had not breathed a single word of your gift to you.
“_____, mon amour*?” You looked up in acknowledgment.
“Renee and I are gonna go out for a little while, we should be back soon though.” You blinked in surprise; he typically never wanted to leave the house on a Saturday. Francis always enjoyed the full effect of family time, even the thought of snuggling up with you, Renee, and, what he presumed to be, his second little fille.
“Okay, be careful.” He stood from the table and grabbed his and Renee’s dishes and placed them in the sink. He soon made his way to you, as did the blue-eyed girl.
“Au revoir*, ____. Je t’aime*.” He placed a kiss against your forehead before kissing your lips for bit longer than the previous time.
“Eww, Papa, that’s nasty!” Francis pulled away from you and smiled at his daughter.
“You won’t think it’s nasty when you ‘ave a ‘usband of your own—which should be in a very, very,very long time!” He scowled at the thought of his little girl getting married. You chuckled along with Renee at his behavior.
“I love you, too, Frenchie. Now go! The sooner you leave, the sooner you come back.” Renee wrapped her arms around your knees.
“Bye, Maman. I love you more than Papa!” Francis’ mouth went agape as his daughter hugged you tighter. You winked at the Frenchman.
“I love you more than Papa, too, Renee.” Francis let out an audible cry of surprise. “Just kidding, Francis. Gosh! I love you both equally!” They smiled before heading out to the car.
~Timeskip to the Florist~
Renee and Francis walked hand in hand to the small florist’s shop, inhaling the sweet scent of many different floras as they walked in. Renee’s eyes landed on an arrangement of red and orange-yellow roses. The yellow-ish ones were tipped with the red of the neighboring roses. She tugged on Francis’ hand.
“Hmm, yes, Renee?” She pointed a chubby toddler finger at the arrangement before them.
“What about those, Papa?” His eyes landed on the arrangement.
“Those are very pretty, Renee. You seem to have a good eye for flowers. Roses are a particular favorite of mine.” She smiled at her accomplishment. “I’m sure Maman will love them, too.” The pair walked up to the florist where Francis asked for a mixed arrangement of orange-yellow and red roses, six of each. After purchasing the flowers, the father-daughter duo made their way on a short walk to the supermarket. They immediately went to the greeting card section and searched through endless “get-well-soon” Hallmark cards. They eventually settled on one and headed out to where Francis had parked the car.
~Timeskip brought to you by Demanding Germany, finish your laps.~
The two soon returned home to you.
“Maman, we’re back!” The bouncing ball of a girl ran for your legs and you scooped her up and gave her a hug. “Did you miss us?”
“The whole time you two were away.” The Frenchman smiled at the scene before him, he lived for Saturdays like these, just the three, or should he say, four of you. “What’d you guys get?” You placed the girl down and looked towards your husband. He handed Renee a bag and he pulled a bouquet of roses from behind his back. You were stunned at the arrangement, for you had never seen one like that. “They’re beautiful, thank so much, guys!” You kissed the Frenchman before you were interrupted by your daughter.
“Maman, there’s more!” You looked down and she handed you a cute “get-well-soon” card. “Get-well-soon, Mama!” You chuckled at her.
“Baby, I’m not sick.”
“I know, but they didn’t have any cards that said ‘make the baby come out faster’.” You patted her mop of (h/c) hair.
“You’re too cute, Renee.” She smiled at you.
“She gets it from moi*, mon amour.” You glared daggers as the Frenchman flipped his blonde hair.
“Hush.” He obliged. “So what does everyone want to do now?” Renee and Francis perked up and both simultaneously said:
“Watch Disney movies!” You laughed at the pair.
“What will I do with my two babies?”
“Hey! I’m your ‘usband!”
“Keep flattering yourself.”