#plainvanilla

Simon's grown accustomed, he thinks, to the state of being pregnant. Well, he can manage, certainly; The only thing he genuinely struggles with at this rate is getting an acceptable amount of rest. Every instinct in his body tells him to roll onto his back in his sleep despite his thousand-year-old spine pleading for some form of mercy, and the weight of this half-chaos god baby certainly isn't helping him. A rest well into the A.M. is nothing short of a victory for the old man. So he forgives himself for being upset the moment he wakes up, starfished, leg and back pillows tossed to the side and shirt ridden up. His back aches with a dull but present throb, and Simon grimaces at the ceiling in the dark bedroom, bleary eyed, more in irritation than discomfort. At least when he stayed awake all night before he wasn't particularly tired. It's not a reasonable hour, that's for sure. He knows that without glancing at the radio clock beside him, and he also knows lifting his heavy body to shift back onto his side is quite the effort in his current state. So he procrastinates on the task, closing his eyes and laying still.... And drifting back off. But Simon is almost immediately jerked back awake at the sensation of a less-than-gentle kick from his baby, unusual at this time of hour and perhaps a little unappreciated. They've gotten to the size where all of their activity is quite noticeable in the womb, and Simon could certainly feel the strength behind anything that wasn't just a minor readjustment. This is not a minor readjustment. The sleep in his system discourages the small spike of anxiety that would usually arise from this deviation of the norm, and instead the antiquarian's brows knit together. "Mmmh." He grunts, running his hand over his belly instinctively to soothe the little guy. Another movement, this time against his palm. Hi, he thinks, too tired to say it aloud. It's not until a purposeful shove against his ribs knocks the breath out of him that Simon finally opens his eyes again- ouch- and heaves himself up to a sitting position, groping for the pair of glasses on his nightstand. He fumbles a bit to put them on one-handed, turning his attention to his swollen middle. "Oof- ow, hey- What's got you going so early?" He grumbles, though there's now a hint of concern in his voice as he watches his little demigod roll in his womb, a bulge of something bigger than a fist or foot shifting downwards. "You're a little big to be doing that one.. You're usually so still at night. Is something wrong?" He feels his chest tighten just at the thought- not now, surely, not when he's so close to having them. It's a ridiculous thought. But he hasn't been able to see them on the Princess' sonograms. He supposes he wouldn't have a way to know for sure if his kid was okay, and this pregnancy was far from conventional. It would be just his luck, but if any god ever chose to be merciful, then please- As if on cue to interrupt his thoughts, his stomach rumbles almost obnoxiously, and the child gives a smaller, though no less insistent kick. Simon blinks in disbelief- and pinches his temples. Kid realizes they're hungry before he does. "Oh. Of course. Ha." As per usual these days, Simon Petrikov works himself up for nothing. "S'pose you won't let me go back to sleep, then, until we do something about that." The human steels himself for a moment, sliding one leg over the edge of the bed before hauling himself to his feet. "Nngh- All right," he mutters, scratching his stubble and pulling his shirt down over his bump, "Let's see what I got in the refrigerator."