Ororo often found herself wondering if her mother, N’Dare, would approve of her lifestyle. Would the Princess of her tribe appreciate that her daughter is fighting for good over evil?
Would N’Dare like the fact that her daughter is an independent, educated American Woman - who spoke three languages fluently and held several degrees under her belt?
Would the wife of photographer David Munroe look down on her only daughter because she was impregnated by a married man? (Never mind the stuff that she did in her past to survive.)
Storm shook her head and rubbed her swollen womb, she felt her uterus contract in another series of early Braxton Hicks contractions and she slowly quietly, spoke calming words in her mother’s tongue to her fetus “ they weren’t in English, she decided a long time a go that her child was going to have every start imaginable, and that too meant being fluent in a language other than English.
These contractions are getting closer. Maybe they are not Braxton Hicks. Maybe I should get Hank. What does the book say? Thoughts swirled around in the wind rider’s head as she tried to sooth her almost-first born.
Perhaps if I go lay down for a while the contractions will stop, I have been on my feet for a very long time now doing laundry, maybe if I slow down.
She put a way the last little bit of her newly bought maternity clothes; walked over to the bed and started to cuddle with the pregnancy pillow that Remy had bought her, apparently it also doubled as a nursing pillow for when the baby comes.
“Hmmm...To breast feed or not to breast feed there is something else I need to think about” she murmured aloud even though she was by herself in her attic bedroom. Ororo finally drifted off with visions of pacifiers and crib mobiles dancing in her head.
~ ~ ~
Ororo was not sure when she woke up, or for that matter she wasn’t how long it’s been since she was asleep for. It was her wet, black yoga pants sticking to the inner parts of her thighs rather uncomfortably that was keeping her awake.
She casually placed her left hand under the light cotton bed sheet that somehow found itself wrapped around her body during her nap; and attempted to pry away the offending material, As her hand came out from under the sheet she noticed the rust color on her fingers.
She gasped and checked again it couldn’t be could it? She checked again. It was; Blood. Her mind screamed for Professor Xavier, Jean and anyone else who could hear her.
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