Rumbling Stomach Newborn Novels & Stories

“He just kicked.” Gabriel's eyes brightened with affection, he rushed closer, his jaws nearly open in wonder. “He can't wait to be out,” he placed his hand on my stomach and rubbed gently. That was one of the times I had seen him warm and affectionate. His firm hands worked like a massage, getting rid of the discomfort I felt. He trailed his palm around my stomach like a circle, then he muttered. “Are you okay? Did it hurt so much?” “I am alright,” I smiled. “I just didn't expect it to be so abrupt. Babies can be so unpredictable,” I said, staring into his eyes with a dreamy gaze.

Annizah sat in the cozy armchair by the window, a warm afternoon light spilling into the room. She had a book in her lap, her fingers idly tracing the words on the page as she read. The house was unusually quiet, a rare moment of peace amidst the recent chaos. As she turned a page, she felt a sudden, distinct movement in her belly. Her eyes widened with surprise and delight as the baby kicked for the first time. She placed her hand over her stomach, feeling the tiny, insistent thump again.

"Did you forget that the baby is an Alpha child?" "The baby will be born special." Rondolf ended his sentence. Rula sighed as she rubbed her stomach slowly. The movement inside her belly was unnatural for a pregnancy that was only two months old. Rondolf reached out his hand and gently rubbed Rula's stomach. Gradually, Rula began to feel more comfortable. Like medicine without having to be consumed, Rula slowly recovered. "Rondolf?" Rula prevented Rondolf's hand from stopping her from rubbing her stomach.

It was a floor dedicated to only one room—a nursery. In the confines of the clear incubator, a newborn lay quietly, with several tubes attached to his small frame, and gauze covered his belly where the umbilical cord had been. His limbs were thin and undeveloped, resembling those of a frail little frog. He was laboriously opening his eyes, and in the small slit that showed, his eyes were dark and round. His vision didn't extend far, though. He lay in warmth, yet the comforting scent of his mother was nowhere present. His small arms flailed gently, searching blindly—yearning for his mother and seeking his younger sister.

"And I suspect our son is about to test whether these cabin walls are sturdy enough to withstand his morning constitutional." Before Caelum could even shift his weight, a small, triumphant scramble announced that Solan had successfully breached the edge of the bassinet. With a daring display of infant athleticism, the ten-month-old tumbled out onto the thick wool rug with a soft, muffled thud, completely unhurt and immediately back on his hands and knees, staring at a pair of discarded leather boots with intense, highly suspicious fascination.

He whispered in awe and disbelief. His gaze dropped to her stomach, and he tightened his hold around her lower abdomen unconsciously. The baby kicked again, a delicate sensation against his palm, as if responding to its father's touch. A lump formed in his throat, his Adam's apple bobbing as he struggled to process the overwhelming emotion that hit him hard.

Stretching my legs, I heard a low rumbling sound from my stomach, like a bad engine trying to gear up. Instinctively, my hands stretched to my stomach and I rubbed it lovingly, the thought of a new life inside me bringing a smile to my face. A few months ago, I would have thought it was hunger, but now I was sure it was my baby. My precious baby. "How are you feeling this morning? Don't worry, you'll be out soon," I said in a soothing voice to my stomach. I did that every day since I read that babies could respond to their mothers' voices even in the womb.

Once, not long after we’d finally drifted off together, a small, strangled whimper cut through the dark. I shot upright with a jolt that made every muscle scream. “What? What? Are they—” Rowan’s face screwed up, emitting another fragile, questioning sound. Not a full cry. It's more like a squeaky door hinge. “Breathing’s fine,” Ronan croaked, already leaning over the bassinet. “Color’s good.” My heart slammed against my ribs. Sweat prickled at my temples. “This is it,” I whispered. “This is how it starts. Every noise, every twitch, every—”

“And the baby?” “He is asleep beside her in the bassinet,” Adrian said. “Wrapped so tightly you can barely see him except for his face. One hand is curled near his mouth as if he forgot to let go after feeding. His breathing is uneven the way newborns breathe, but steady. The nurse says that is normal.” He paused briefly. “He is very small,” he added quietly. “Smaller than I expected, but strong. He feeds constantly and falls asleep immediately afterward.” His mother listened without interruption.

My hand presses against my stomach. “No,” I whisper. This isn’t mine. Not the slow ache of skipping a meal. This hunger is sharp. Urgent. Like a body sounding an alarm it can’t turn off. The baby in the bassinet. Crying. Crying. Crying. A wave of dizziness rolls through me. I grab the edge of the counter to steady myself. The baby doesn’t know what hunger means. It only knows something hurts. Something is missing. And no one is coming.