chapter 79: I just want mom to be okay
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Chapter 79 – Liam's POV
"I Just Want Mom to Be Okay"
I used to think having a baby meant smiles and kisses and Mom buying tiny clothes.
But now I know… it also means throwing up in the morning, crying over silly things, and looking really, really tired.
Mom says she's fine.
But I don't believe her.
Not really.
Because ever since she told me there was a baby in her tummy, everything changed.
She sleeps more. She eats weird stuff — like pickles and peanut butter on toast. She sighs a lot, and sometimes she just stares at the wall, like her brain forgot what it was doing.
And I don't like it.
I don't like seeing her sad or sleepy or hurting.
I miss when she used to dance in the kitchen with me.
When she painted with me on Saturday mornings.
When she laughed more.
So now… it's my job to make her happy.
Because I'm the big boy in the house when Dad isn't around.
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"Mom?" I asked, tiptoeing into her room with a glass of cold water I got all by myself.
She was lying on her side, the curtains closed, her face kind of pale.
She opened her eyes when she heard me. "Hey, baby."
"I brought you water," I said proudly. "Room temperature. No ice. Just how you like it."
Her smile made my chest feel warm. "You're the sweetest boy."
I climbed into the bed next to her carefully. I didn't want to squish the baby.
"Are you okay?" I asked, resting my small hand on her tummy.
"I'm just a little tired today, sweetie."
"Is the baby being naughty?"
She laughed a little. "The baby's just doing baby things. Mommy's body is just working really hard."
"Being pregnant sounds hard."
"It is. But it's also beautiful."
I looked at her face. "You don't look like it's beautiful."
That made her laugh again, a real one this time. "I guess I'm not glowing like the magazines say, huh?"
I shook my head. "You glow when you smile, though."
She pulled me into a hug and kissed the top of my head. "You're going to be the best big brother."
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After that, I started doing more things for her.
I'd sneak little flowers from the garden into her room and put them in a cup by her bed.
I drew a picture of her, me, and the baby — and even though the baby just looked like a potato with a face, she said it was the best thing she'd ever seen.
I stopped watching cartoons too loud when she had headaches.
And when she cried watching a commercial about puppies, I didn't laugh like I used to. I just hugged her and gave her tissues.
Mom says I have a big heart.
But I think maybe it's because she gave it to me.
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One afternoon, Dad came home from work and found me standing on a stool in the kitchen, trying to spread jam on bread for Mom.
"Whoa, Liam," he said, catching the knife before it slid off the counter. "What are you up to, buddy?"
"Mom said she was craving jam toast but she was too tired to get up. So I'm making it."
Dad smiled and knelt down. "You're such a good helper."
"She's been really sick this week," I whispered, frowning. "Do you think the baby is okay?"
Dad looked serious for a second, then put his hand on my shoulder. "The baby's fine. Your mom's body is just doing a lot of work. But you being here — doing little things like this — makes a big difference."
I looked up at him. "Do you do stuff for her too?"
"All the time," he chuckled. "But I think your toast might make her smile more than anything I could buy."
That made me grin.
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That night, when Mom was finally feeling good enough to sit on the couch, I brought her the toast on a tiny plate. I even sprinkled a little cinnamon on it like she liked.
She gasped. "Did you make this?"
I nodded. "With supervision," I said proudly, using a word Dad taught me.
She took a bite. Her eyes lit up. "Perfect."
Then she pulled me into her side and kissed my cheek again and again until I was squirming with giggles.
"I don't know what I'd do without you," she whispered.
"You'll never have to find out."
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Sometimes I wonder if the baby knows how lucky they are.
They'll get to have her arms wrapped around them. Her songs. Her gentle voice when they're scared or sad.
Just like I did.
And when I see how tired she looks, how her eyes flutter closed in the middle of a movie we're watching, I snuggle up next to her and whisper to her belly:
"Don't make Mommy too sick, okay? I need her strong. And she needs sleep. So be a nice baby, alright?"
One time I think the baby kicked.
I smiled and whispered again, "Good baby."
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Mom says I'll always be her first baby.
Even when this one comes.
Even when I grow big and tall.
I believe her.
But even if I wasn't, even if the baby became her favorite — I'd still protect her. Just like she always protects me.
Because love isn't about being first.
It's about being forever.
And I'll love her forever.
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