The Ovulation Pmsing Is So Real 😭 - Blog Posts

baby fever - op81

synopsis: you’ve got baby fever. Oscar… well, doesn’t.

wc: 0.5k

warnings: mentions of infertility (r is not actually infertile), not proof read

A few days ago, while scrolling through social media, you came across a video of a little baby. Her giggles warmed your heart, and sent you down a long rabbit hole and into a spiral of lasting baby fever.

You sauntered into the kitchen where Oscar was cooking breakfast. Your hands wrapped around his torso, your head rested on his shoulder.

He smiled, a sight that brightened your day and definitely did not help with your daydreams about him as a father. “Good morning.” He greeted. The sleep hadn’t yet worn off, leaving his voice a little rough.

“Morning.” You sighed, snuggling your head into the curve of his neck.

“What’s up, baby?” He asked, a hand snaking it’s way down your arm before lacing his fingers with yours.

Humming, swaying, you were in your own world. In your mind, you imagined a mini version of the both of you sitting in a high chair not far from where you stood. “We should have a baby.”

It was a harsh bomb to drop so early in the morning. In your haze, you hadn’t realized that.

“What? No.” He laughed.

You frowned and pulled away from him.

He began to panic. “No, wait-“

“No. No it’s okay. Stupid idea anyway.” You mumbled, slow steps creating distance between the two of you. You retreated to the bedroom. He would’ve followed you if it weren’t for the food on the stove.

As soon as he finished up and plated the food, he rushed to the bedroom. He found you on the bed, under the sheets, curled in a ball.

He sat beside you, a comforting hand on your back. “I’m sorry. That came out wrong.” He apologized. You said nothing. “I’d love nothing more than to make a mini us and see it run around the house, but right now… it’s not a good time.” He shook his head, though you couldn’t see it.

“But he’d be so cute.” You blubbered.

Oscar paused. “Are you crying?” He hesitated to reach out.

You flipped around to face him. “Yes!” You sniffed. “Because- because- imagine it. He’d look just like you and I can dress him like you and take him to races—or her! And you’d look so cute holding a mini us.”

Hands found their way around your body and he pulled you into him. “I know, you’d be such a cute mom. Maybe later but I just don’t want to miss everything. We’re still young.” He ran a hand through your hair while you continued to cry, not liking his answer.

“You’ll be racing until you’re forty!” You sobbed. “And what if I’m not able to have kids by then! I could be fresh out of eggs!” You clutched onto his shirt.

“I don’t want to wait until we’re forty, either. Maybe just a couple more years.”

You sniffled. “I think I’m pmsing.” It would explain the emotional response, and the intense baby fever.

Oscar didn’t say anything, he only chuckled.