Vignettes from a Pregnancy –The Second Trimester

Well the pregnancy is now canon. We know it was kind of weird, kind of more fraught than I had in mind. Then it all settled down again. Or did it?

Follows on from ‘Vignettes from a Pregnancy – The First Trimester’

Rated M: Mature audiences only – some discussion of sex and bodily functions

Author: JanF

Feedback: anthsull@rivernet.com.au

Thanks to Marianne and PJ for looking it over and their help. Needless to say all mistakes are my own.

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Personal Log – Tom Paris

She’s better at last.

We’ve finally seen the last of the bucket, although B’Elanna says we should hang on to it -- it could be used for more than one type of body waste disposal – it may come in handy if the recyclers go off line. She’s stopped being so tired. Best of all she’s accepting this pregnancy and I think – even enjoying it.

Now that the biochemical imbalances are sorted out and she’s flying through her second trimester life is good. I often catch B’Elanna staring at the image of our little girl with a dreamy smile on her face. That’s right. A dreamy smile. I can hardly believe it but I think she might be imagining life with our little girl on Voyager.

A girl! I am going to have a little girl. I now sometimes wonder how she will feel growing up on a Starship. I so much enjoyed the ocean, the smells of woodland, running as if there were no boundaries. What will it be like for her? Sure, I’m a good holodeck programmer but even then it’s not the same as being there.

I guess there are drawbacks with any situation. Harry asked me if I worried about the dangers. After all, we’ve had a pretty rough time of late. Even on Earth accidents happen, diseases recur. B’Elanna and I accept the fact that nowhere is perfect and will do our best.

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Personal Log- B’Elanna Torres

I keep talking to you, now. I used to make my log just for the computer but now it seems silly talking as if you’re not there. The Doc is nagging me about how you hear me. Telling me to moderate my language. I think even the worst of me is better than the Doc and his singing, though. Don’t worry I’ll keep you safe from any more of his operatic adventures. Pity I can’t make the same promise for your Dad’s rock and roll!

There’s so much to learn. I wish babies came with a manual. Actually, they do. Thousands of them. Most with conflicting advice. Klingon and human parenting practices are fairly incompatible. I found that out through painful personal experience. How am I going to find the way for you? No one’s written the book on Human-Klingon child rearing on a Starship in the Delta Quadrant.

Your dad says we’ll find a way. I get so frustrated, though. After his initial enthusiasm for a simulation (oh yes – I’m sure you’ll sleep 16 hours a day and be toilet-trained by 8 weeks!) his interest in the harder aspects of parenting is fading. He won’t look at the PADDs I leave around the place. He’ll be looking after you, too, you know! Then there are the people who are sure that any way other than their way of child rearing will result in your immediate moral disintegration. One of the ensigns had a fit when they saw your cradle. They wondered why you weren’t going to sleep with us. Someone else almost had their nose altered when they suggested my plan for going back to work would interfere with your basic bonding. If the warp core was critical and I wasn’t there to fix it it might interfere with our bonding, too. The molecular sort.

Oh well. I shouldn’t get so riled. I know everyone is just trying to help. It’s the everyone, though. Sometimes I just wish it were just the three of us rather than you being community property. Not that that’s likely to change.

Despite the fact that I’ve stopped falling asleep in Staff Meetings it’s time for me to rest. Your dad should be off-shift, soon. A nap to recharge before he gets home would be nice.

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Personal Log – Tom Paris

Okay. I’ve been patient. I’ve been supportive. But if I have to fix too many more broken bones I’ll be a very miserable man.

B’Elanna was so sick in her first trimester I never expected the hormonal effects of the pregnancy to be quite so dramatic. An "increase in interest in sex" sounds so benign. That’s what the books say and I wasn’t really holding out much hope. Maybe a bit of hope. After all, an increase from nothing (B’Elanna was too sick to even think about it) to maybe once a week would have been nice. Twice a week and I would have been ecstatic. But her Pon Farr experience had nothing on this!

All the books say, "Enjoy it. After the baby comes it could be a long, dry spell." But it’s kind of disconcerting to be reminded that there is an extra person around when you get kicked through her belly in a moment of passion. Sure the Doc tells me the baby doesn’t know what’s going on, that she’s cushioned by amniotic fluid. But judging by my bruises and from the noise complaints she’ll have to be pretty sturdy to not know something’s up with Mom and Dad.

As for the noise complaints, Neelix tells me that more people are eating in the messhall. Evidently a lot of people have been using their replicator rations for earplugs. Just wait till B’Elanna hears about that.

She finished her shift early today. She’ll have had a rest. Oh boy. I’d better make sure the osteoregenerator’s charged.

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Personal Log- B’Elanna Torres

I’m so fat.

I am.

I have fat in places I didn’t know I could have fat.

I mean I’ve never been that conscious about my figure. I ate what I wanted, exercised when I wanted and things were okay.

Now nothing looks good. Nothing!

Sure Tom can say I look beautiful. If I hear ‘glowing’ and ‘radiant’ from one more person I might just drop them into the warp core so they can make a detailed comparison.

Tom had a brilliant idea the other day. Take holo-images! Aaargh! Couldn’t he see how I looked that day? I had bags under my eyes, my ass sags and the replicator seems to only specialise in A-cups (Unless you’re a Borg. I wonder how she persuaded it to upsize?).

I fart, too.

Tom and I have never been too embarrassed about natural bodily functions. The head/bathroom is too small to get too caught up in what’s happening. I mean you can hear one of his larger five-screens of PADD reading morning efforts way across the quarters. Most things don’t phase us, but this farting is ridiculous. I’m not just talking about little pffts… There are the silent but deadlies that gently whiff out and fill the room with their charming aroma. Then there are the ten note blasts that must have the neighbours reaching for their earplugs. How did I get so disgusting?

And the food. People said I might have cravings. I don’t really. Not the "Go get me ice-cream or die!" cravings. Just things I wouldn’t normally eat start to look good. Guacamole. It was always that bit too green for me before. Now it’s good on anything. Toast, sandwiches, pizza. Well I thought it was good on pizza. Tom just left more of it for me!

Can you hear me complaining little monster? Oh, the things you have done to me! I wouldn’t really change it though. Well, maybe just my ass sagging. And the farting.

Did you hear your father talking to you last night? Making plans to teach you to fly? Promising to take you sailing on Lake Como? He will, too.

Both your Dad and I felt badly let down by our parents. We’re both coming to realise that parents make mistakes, too. I hope we never make big ones with you like our dads, did.

But I promise you we will try hard for you. We are so looking forward to meeting you.

We love you and we haven’t really even met yet.

The End

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