It's a crisp September morning in 1964, and I, Chad Stuart, wake up with a peculiar feeling in my tummy. It's not the first time, considering my present condition - two months pregnant with my wee one, Emmy.

"Ach, it's just the morning sickness, Stuart," I say to myself, placing a comforting hand on my burgeoning belly. But then, an unmistakable growl echoes from my pits. I can't help the chuckle that escapes me.

"You've got a rumbly in your tummy, haven't you?" I whisper to my belly, my hand smoothing over the curve. I hadn't eaten a crumb yesterday, and my body was reminding me of my neglect.

"What a silly bugger you've been, Chad, not to eat anything," I speak to my belly, trying to quell the rumbly with a soothing touch. The growling, however, persists, bolder than before.

Despite the uneasiness, I haul myself out of bed. I'm feeling sicker by the minute, but my stomach insists on food. Determined, I stagger into the kitchen, clutching my belly protectively.

The food in the flat is scarce. My stomach lets out a loud, disgruntled noise, and I look at it apologetically. "I know, belly, I didn't plan this well, did I?" I admit, a rueful laugh escaping me.

As I scan the paltry contents of my kitchen, my hand is almost glued to my belly. I try to soothe my growling stomach with soft whispers and gentle rubs, to little avail.

"No crying, belly," I implore. "We'll figure something out." My rumbly tummy, however, seems less convinced, rumbling in defiant protest under my imploring touch.

Just as I begin to feel dizzy from the hunger, a gentle stir from within distracts me. Emmy. I press a warm hand to my belly, whispering soft apologies. "Mornin', my little one."

Guilt washes over me. How could I have forgotten? If I'm this hungry, then surely, my baby must be feeling it too. I swallow the lump in my throat, mustering up a brave smile for my tummy.

"We'll find something to eat soon, Emmy, I promise," I murmur, my hand gently caressing my belly. I'm determined; we won't starve, not when there's even a crumb left in this flat.

Brows furrowing, I rummage through the pantry, desperately trying to find something edible. My hand never leaves my belly, comforting Emmy, as I let out a frustrated sigh. "Got to go grocery shopping soon," I mutter to myself.

At last, I find a can of beans at the back of the pantry. My heart leaps in relief. "Look, tummy," I say, showing my belly the can. "Supper's on me tonight!"

I set about preparing a meal, my belly protesting with every move. "Hold on, tummy. Give me a few minutes," I coax, hoping it will understand. Despite the discomfort, I manage to put together a humble meal.

As I take the first bite, I can almost feel my belly sighing in relief. "There you go, tummy," I say through mouthfuls of food, "Told you I'd sort it out."

After supper, I retire to the living room, settling down on the couch with a hand resting on my belly. As Emmy stirs within me, a peaceful feeling washes over, replacing the earlier discomfort.

"We made it through another day, tummy," I murmur, patting my belly gently. "Tomorrow, we'll go shopping properly and get you some good food, aye?" The day ends on a hopeful note, promising a better tomorrow.