The baby kicked, hard, right against her diaphragm. She wheezed-laughed, then coughed, then laughed again. In the mirror, her reflection looked back—round face, flushed cheeks, hair a wild nest. She didn’t recognize herself. But beneath her palm, the tight, warm curve of her belly felt like home.
She reached for the saline spray on the nightstand for the third time that night. Drip, wait, sniff. Nothing.
“You’re in there with plenty of room,” she whispered. “Lucky you.”
Here’s a short draft based on the prompt "stuffiness during pregnancy": The Ninth-Month Cold That Wasn’t a Cold
Mara woke to the sound of her own breath—a thin, whistling rasp that made her feel like a kettle left too long on the stove. She lay on her left side, the way the books said to, a pillow between her knees and another propping up her head. Still, her nose was a locked door.
