Pansy couldn't sleep. Though she tried everything from counting mooncalfs to reciting every fashion designer she knew, first alphabetically, then by personal preference, she couldn't get her mind to shut off. She'd been tossing and turning for hours, silently fuming at the warm body of her husband beside her. The man could sleep anywhere, anytime and it never grated more than when she was struck with a bout of insomnia. Glancing over at the man in question, she could just barely see the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he slept the sleep of the dead. Even as a wave of affection washed over her, she felt the distinct urge to grab her pillow and smother him. This was his fault, after all. She'd never had difficulty sleeping until she became pregnant with his giant spawn. Now, here she was, hugely (in her opinion) pregnant, and completely sleepless.