‘Being pregnant with Lip’s (planned) baby would include…’
• Lip is terrified at first. Like full-on panicking. He’s pacing his house at 3 a.m. googling if it’s normal to feel like this while you’re asleep in his room. He’s convinced he’s going to fuck this up somehow, because that’s what Gallagher men do, right? But he never says it out loud. Instead, he just starts doing what he thinks he should quietly.
• He quits smoking cold turkey the day you tell him you’re finally pregnant; he doesn’t even complain, just tosses the pack and lighter into the trash like it’s nothing. When you ask why, he shrugs and mutters, “Kid doesn’t need that shit in their lungs,” and goes back to making lunch.
• He becomes unusually domesticated. He learns how to cook actual meals (not just ramen or grilled cheese). He’s burning eggs at first, cursing under his breath, but he gets better. He makes you oatmeal with cinnamon because he read online it helps with nausea. He himself hates oatmeal; he still makes it every morning for you.
• Back rubs become a nightly ritual, much to your pleasure. Every night you can be found sprawled on the couch, head dangling off his lap as he’s massaging your shoulders while watching some car documentary on his cracked TV. He doesn’t even realise he’s doing it half the time, just absentmindedly working the tension out of your shoulders while muttering about structural integrity or some shit.
• He talks to the bump when he thinks you’re asleep. Soft, awkward little monologues. “Hey, kid. Don’t give your mom too much shit in there, alright? She’s already dealing with me.” Sometimes he presses his forehead to your stomach and just breathes, like he’s trying to communicate with an alien.
• He’s overprotective in the most Lip way. gruff and sarcastic, but dead serious. Some dude at the Alibi looks at you too long? Lip’s in his face in seconds. You try to walk home alone after dark? He’s already outside waiting, hands in his pockets, pretending he “just felt like a walk.”
• Sex drive is THROUGH the roof. He’s obsessed with how you look pregnant— soft curves, full breasts, the way you glow even when you’re complaining about heartburn and diarrhoea. He worships every inch of you, slow and carefully, but hungry. Afterward, he pulls you against his chest, hand splayed protectively over your belly, whispering, “You’re so so perfect.”
• When the baby is finally here, Lip cries HARD. Not loud or dramatic— he doesn’t want to distract the nurses from you —just silent tears rolling down his cheeks while he holds the tiny, squirming creature like it’s made of glass. He looks at you, eyes red, and chokes out, “Fuck. You made a whole person.”
• He’s terrified of breaking the baby for the first week and so holds them like they’re going to explode. You have to show him how to support the head, and how to change a diaper without getting pissed on. Once he gets the hang of it though, he’s a PRO. Changes diapers one-handed while chatting with Brad on the phone.
• Sleep deprivation hits him hard, but he never complains. You wake up at 3 a.m. to find him walking the living room in circles, baby tucked against his chest, murmuring physics theorems like lullabies because “the vibrations might help him calm down.” It’s ridiculous. It works
• He’s the “don’t talk to my kid like that” kind of dad. Family comes over? He’s hovering. Someone tries to hold the baby too long? He’s casually taking them back with a tight smile. He trusts you completely, but everyone else gets side-eyed the whole time
• He starts working double shifts at the shop so you can stay home longer, but he’s home EVERY night for bath time. He sings terrible off-key lullabies (mixed with random rap verses when he runs out) and the baby giggles in delight while splashing their father.
• He talks to the baby like they’re already a person. “Alright, little man, today we’re gonna learn why internal combustion engines are superior to electric, okay?” You catch him reading engineering textbooks out loud like they’re fairytales while the baby nurses or sleeps on his chest.
• He’s softer than he’s ever been. The sharp edges he used to carry around like armor melt when he’s holding his kid. He’ll be cursing out some asshole on the phone one second, then look down at the baby and immediately drop his voice to a whisper, kissing their tiny forehead.
• Late at night, when the baby’s finally asleep between you, he pulls you close, hand resting on your stomach again like he can’t believe it’s flat now. He presses his lips to your temple and murmurs, “You gave me this. You gave me everything.”
• He’s still Lip, of course — sarcastic, stubborn, and occasionally self-destructive— but the second that baby cries he’s moving before you even register it. He’s not perfect: he’s still learning. But he’s trying— really trying, and every day he looks at you and the kid like he can’t believe he got this lucky.
• When baby says “Dada” for the first time Lip freezes, then laughs and pulls you into his arms so tight you can barely breathe.
