| 1:16a |
who: Gin & Harry
where: a kitchen somewhere on the ship
when: laaaaaaaaate night thursday
what: hungry potters like psgetti!
It had a been a rough week. Ginny was exhausted. She was usually tired with this pregnancy thing, but this was ten times that at least. At least when she'd been fat and pregnant at home she'd had lots of emotional support. Ginny was feeling more and more like her only emotional support on this ship was her son! And it so wasn't supposed to work like that. Kids weren't supposed to take care of their parents until the parents were old and grey. Technically Jamsie was still a fetus... even though it was the 20 year old him that was taking care of his mum. If Gin had anymore nerves left to stress with, she'd be worrying about how all this was going to affect her son (the big one and his little version), but she was just worried about keeping the baby safe at the moment. Once he was out of her tummy she wouldn't worry so much about what happened to her because it wouldn't so directly affect him.
What did directly affect tiny Jamsie, though, was the grumbling in her tummy. Ginny felt like no matter how much she ate her tummy was always grumbling. The truth of the matter, though, was that she hadn't been eating very well lately. Pre-pregnancy Ginny had never really been a great eater. She ate when she had time, which was rare. But after they found out she was knocked up, Harry started checking to make sure she had three meals a day and snacks in between. Without him keeping an eye on her, it was hard. Especially considering after he (the him here anyway) had upset her like he had, she was just sleeping a lot and not remembering to eat.
But when the tummy calls, you must answer. So Ginny slipped on her slippers (odd how all her favorite things were here on the ship), pulled a long fuzzy bathrobe over her nightgown, and headed out the door. Finding the kitchen didn't take long. That was the easy part. But when she opened the fridge, insisting to the staff that she wanted to do it her damned self, finding what she wanted to eat was proving difficult. She wanted spaghetti, but only a certain kind, and Harry wasn't likely to just suddenly show up in the kitchen and offer to make her spaghetti tonight. So there she stood, staring blankly into the tiny light at the back of the wide-open doored refrigerator. |