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Queer • feminist • ace • chaos gremlin
Kinks
Will Accept: mpreg, nbpreg (including trans and intersex), unplanned/unwanted/forced/rapid pregnancy, lactating/breastfeeding, weight gain, multiples, lactating, monster/alien/creature pregnancy, birth denial, pregnancy denial, public birth, complicated birth, orgasmic birth, labour, dominate/subordinate, vore, alpha/beta/omega dynamics.
Will Not Accept: age-play, race-play, pedophilia, minors, incest, furries (okay to have animal features), anthropomorphic, vanilla, hardcore porn, bestiality, pet-play, fan fiction, fluffy romance.
Chapters: 1/6
Fandom: Sonic the Hedgehog - All Media Types
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Relationships: Shadow the Hedgehog/Sonic the Hedgehog
Characters: Sonic the Hedgehog, Shadow the Hedgehog, Other sonic characters
Additional Tags: Mpreg, Parenthood, Kid Fic, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Near Death Experiences, Sonic the Hedgehog is Famous, Sonic the Hedgehog is Rich, Morning Sickness, Rouge the Bat and Shadow the Hedgehog are Best Friends, the media sucks a little less, only a little, Sexual Content, Childbirth, Slice of Life, Shadow the Hedgehog is Better at Feelings, Sonic the Hedgehog is Better at Feelings, Bottom Shadow the Hedgehog, Top Sonic the Hedgehog, Parent Shadow the Hedgehog, Parent Sonic the Hedgehog, Drinking, pregnancy shenanigans, Cravings, Overpowered children, Hurt/Comfort, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, If necessary, Humor, Attempt at Humor, Established Relationship, POV Shadow the Hedgehog, Occasional POV change, Shadow the Hedgehog Has Black Arms Biology, Shadow the Hedgehog Has Alien Biology
Series: Part 2 of Sonadow Family
Summary:
His final sign comes in the form of his two year old daughter.
“Papa, you feel funny!”
“Feel… funny?”
“Mhm! Ya got… feelin’s! Silly feelin’s! T'ere!”
She points at his stomach, then gives it a pat.
“Silly silly feelin’!” She sing-songs.
…He’s going to kill Sonic.
-
The Hero of Mobius and The Ultimate Lifeform have settled down together after the events at the former mad doctor’s base. Raising their children has become their new normal, alongside saving the day and spending time with their friends.
They’re soon to find out that their normal is about to become a bit bigger.
Continuation of You’d Have to Stop the World.
the sequel to YHTSTW has arrived! i wrote 11k a week and half after the first story ended cause i just have SO MANY IDEAS LMAO. all the chapters are planned out how i want the story to go so no scattering like the first story had. i hope everyone enjoys the story! cheers to sonadow family fluff!!
What started as a housewarming quickly became Andre’s baby moon. He’d just purchased his first home at twenty-five and invited everyone in the neighbourhood over. One particularly handsome stranger caught his eye and wandered over. At 6’2 with black hair and dark eyes, he was Andre’s exact type. Luckily for Andre, the man seemed more than willing to help Andre break in his new mattress.
Andre started feeling unwell six weeks after his encounter with the mysterious, dark-haired neighbour. He ignored the nausea and dizziness until a small ball formed in the centre of his stomach. It quickly grew into a sizeable swell, expanding over his waistband and stretching out all his shirts. From the moment he realised he was pregnant, Andre obsessed over his growing child and began preparations for their arrival.
He purchased furniture and turned his guest room into a nursery. The animal print he’d picked for the wallpaper was the perfect backdrop for the wooden decor he’d carefully selected from a handful of thrift stores. The only hiccup in his plan was that Andre hadn’t seen the handsome stranger since the night he’d impregnated him. It would’ve been nice for the other father to be informed but Andre had already settled on parenting alone and he was confident in his ability to do so.
July, his ninth month, brought a sweltering heat that had Andre going shirtless most days. He was making some final paint touches in the nursery when the doorbell rang. Carefully descending the ladder, he made his way downstairs.
‘Coming!’ Andre yelled as the doorbell sounded a second time. His walk was reduced to a waddle, his back arched to reduce some of the pressure. One hand had to be kept under his belly just to support his swollen frame.
The doorbell rang a third time. ‘I said I’m com-’ Andre opened the door, the words dying in his throat.
‘Hey, stranger.’ The same handsome man from the housewarming party stood on his doorstep, grinning. He nodded at Andre’s rotund belly. ‘I think you have something of mine.
Andre placed one hand protectively over his belly. ‘Where have you been the last nine months?’
‘The day after we had sex, I was called away on an impromptu business trip to Switzerland. I got back yesterday.’
‘And what makes you think the baby is yours?’
‘The neighbours told me the new man on the block is knocked up. Based on the timeline, I figured it was a safe bet.’
Andre rubbed circles over the skin of his belly. It had begun feeling quite tight in the past few weeks. ‘I’m carrying your baby and I don’t even know your name.’
‘Yeah, I guess we were too hasty skipping over the talking part.’ The man chuckled and extended a hand. ‘I’m Stephen.’
‘Andre.’
‘We should probably sit down and disc-’ Stephen broke off as Andre cried out. ‘Are you okay?’
A stream of liquid ran down Andre’s legs as he gripped his belly with wide eyes. He looked up at Stephen, panicking. ‘My water just broke.’
‘Oh, shit, uh.’ Stephen fumbled in his pockets for his phone. ‘I’ll call an ambulance.’
Andre shook his head. ‘No, I-I’m having a home birth. Upstairs. In my bathroom. There’s a pool set up.’
‘Well, alright then.’ Stephen began to lead the labouring Andre upstairs. ‘I guess we’re really christening the bedroom this time, huh?’
His personal trainer gave him a special pill to help him lose weight faster and build muscle mass. Six months later he waddles into his trainer’s office to ask what exactly had been in that pill.
You’ve known it for a long time. Your whole family tried to warn you when you were younger but you denied it because you loved him and wanted it to work. Now it’s glaringly obvious, and you’ve had enough.
The two of you moved in together after four years. Well, he moved in with you. You’d just bought your first place after completing your residency and fellowship at the local hospital. It’s not anything fancy but it’s yours and you are damn proud of how your hard work has paid off. Now if only you could say the same for your boyfriend.
He took up a plumbing apprenticeship right before COVID hit. When the pandemic locked everything down it relegated him to the house full-time. Instead of helping out and doing laundry, cleaning, and cooking, he sat in front of his computer all day every day, yelling at fictitious creatures and cursing with online teammates. He never went back to finish his apprenticeship after lock down ended.
You’d tried to be nice. You’d tried to be understanding. You showed him job postings and brought up career nights. You polished his resume and even dropped it off at a few places because you’re the only one with a car and he hates taking the bus. One employer had even called him back but he’d slept in and missed the interview.
Now you’re at wits end. You’re a first-year attending, nearly always on-call, and barely have time to sleep on a good day. Even when you’re not at work you’re running around the house trying to get on top of the chores your deadbeat boyfriend claims he didn’t see beforehand.
‘Why isn’t the laundry done?’ You often find yourself asking. ‘I left you the car so you could go grocery shopping today and you’re still sat in that chair.’
His go-to response is that he’s getting to it. ‘Just one more quest,’ he’d say. ‘I’m nearly at the top of the mountain.’
‘He does nothing!’ You complain to your co-workers at lunch. ‘Just sits on his stupid game all day and can’t even be bothered unloading the dishwasher and making dinner!’
Most of them tell you to break it off. Don’t worry, the thought crosses your mind everyday, but there’s complications. Since you live together, you’re recognised as a de-facto relationship. If you were to end it he’d have rights to your assets. And damn him if he ever thought that was happening.
And then your co-worker suggests something that makes for the perfect revenge. ‘Did you hear about the new clinical trial downstairs? Apparently they’ve had some breakthrough results.’
You debated your colleague’s suggestion for two weeks. It was a big step, yes, but when you came home after your eighth shift in a row to find the house an even bigger mess than the week before, you knew it was time.
If you boyfriend wanted to sit on his ass all day, then you’d give him a worthwhile reason to do it.
As it turned out, the hospital’s male pregnancy research team was happy to take on new participants. The process of collecting your eggs took less than a week. They sent you home with a small insemination kit and promised to check in for weekly updates.
The process of insemination was simple.
‘It’s a new pneumococcal vaccine.’ You tell your boyfriend as you insert the needle into his thigh. ‘Right now it’s only available for hospital staff and their partners but it’s good to get a jump on these things.’
‘Uh huh,’ your boyfriend is spamming the keyboard as he focuses on killing some sort of troll onscreen. He hasn’t asked a single question about the vaccine you claim to be giving him. ‘Whatever you say, babe.’
You remove the needle from his thigh and dispose of it in a small biohazard container. ‘All done. Let me know if you feel sick in the next hour or so.’
‘Mm hmm.’
He isn’t sick in the next hour but six weeks after the insemination, you wake up to your boyfriend vomiting in the bathroom. His morning sickness is a sure sign the pregnancy has taken but you collect a blood sample to be sure, playing it off as making sure the vaccine has stabilised in his body.
You drop it off at the lab right before your shift starts. Half an hour later you receive a phone call with good news. The results from the lab come back positive. Your boyfriend is pregnant. The research team is thrilled and so are you.
The first couple months pass by without incident. You start slipping multi-vitamins into your boyfriend’s food and replace his snacks with healthier alternatives that appear similar.
Your work schedule balances out a bit more. As an attending, you have more freedom over your surgeries, but some of your colleagues are also aware that you have a pregnant boyfriend at home and want you to get the full experience of becoming a parent. Besides, the residents are more than willing to take on your case load for check-ups, discharge papers, booking in services, etc. You're home by eight at the latest these days, and now you don't really mind doing the cooking seeing as you have a special something in the making anyway.
Four months in, your boyfriend has started showing. You smirk behind a teacup as you watch him struggle to fit his favourite shirt over his expansive belly. He still hasn’t caught on, lost in the assumption that all the food he consumes at his desk is finally taking its toll.
He's twenty-three weeks along when it happens for the first time.
You’re reading on the couch when a sudden yelp has you looking up. Your boyfriend is squirming in his chair, eyes wide as he grips his belly in panic. ‘Babe, I swear something just moved inside me!’
You go back to your book. ‘It’s probably indigestion.’
He frowns and looks down at his belly. ‘It didn’t feel like indigestion.’
You try to continue with your book but out of the corner of your eye can see your boyfriend is still distressed.
Rolling your eyes, you toss the book aside and cross the room to him. You pull back his chair, noticeably heavier, and kneel in front of him, kneading his belly.
‘You need to relax,’ you tell him. ‘Everything will be okay.’
He tilts his head back and sighs in relief as you continue massaging his belly. ‘Maybe you’re right.’
‘I’m a doctor, of course I’m right.’
That earns you a chuckle. Your boyfriend turns back to his game. ‘Now I’m going to finish this level.’
‘Go get ‘em, babe.’ You kiss his cheek and leave him be.
At eight months you can’t believe he still hasn’t worked it out. He’s more belly than man at this point, his full figure spilling over the waistband of the only pair of shorts he has left that haven’t ripped. On top of that, his hips have widened to give him a sizeable gait and his chest is fuller, creating milk for the life growing inside him. Even his body fat has redistributed itself to soften his thighs and buttox. He now fits the profile of someone who does spend all day playing games and stuffing their face.
To be fair, he’s shown signs that indicate he’s suspicious but nothing has ever come of it. Either he’s in denial or he really is too self-involved to understand what’s happening inside him.
He’s moving far slower now. Getting out of the chair takes minutes, as does the walk to the kitchen for snacks throughout the day. He hasn’t even picked up on the fact that you changed his food months ago, not batting an eye as he consumes his healthier snacks by the fistful.
Every now and then you’ll catch him squirming in his chair, whining when he can’t find a comfortable position to house both his bigger body and swollen belly. These moments really make you smile and you have to turn to hide your grin.
Sometimes he’ll rub his belly without evening noticing, caressing the curves and moaning softly as he massages away what he doesn’t understand to be Braxton Hicks. He’s hornier too but you rarely indulge his pleas, only getting him off when the growth of his belly hinders access to his hole.
By June he’s on the home stretch. None of his clothes fit anymore so he spends either all his time crammed in old shirts with his belly hanging out or completely shirtless. He’s been wearing the same boxers for three days, the waistband squished beneath his stuffed womb.
You make a note on the calendar when his belly finally drops. Your attraction to him had long ago died but seeing him twisting in his chair or flat on his back in bed with that bump sticking up is a major turn on. On the days you’re feeling most put out, you even dare to imagine him carrying multiples. What he’d look like twice as big. And how he’d fair carrying them around given he can barely handle one.
It’s three o’clock in the morning when you finish your shift at the hospital; one of your surgeries had complications in post-op. The glow of the computer immediately reveals where your boyfriend is when you step through the door into the dark household.
‘Yes! Level 129!’ Your boyfriend yells into his headset, one hand on his 44-week pregnant belly.
You wrap your knuckles on the desk, trying not to startle him.
‘Oh, hey babe,’ he says. ‘Did you bring food? I’ve been eating all day but these hunger cramps aren’t letting up.’
You’d been headed to the stairs but turn back instantly. ‘Cramps?’
‘Yeah.’ He runs a hand over his swollen dome. ‘I woke up around four and ate the stew, casserole, mashed potatoes, and whole cherry pie in the fridge but I still feel like I’m starving. Maybe it’s just indigestion again.’
You open your stopwatch app. ‘Have the cramps been consistent or spaced out?’
‘I don’t think it matters when you’re hungry, babe.’ He laughs. ‘But they haven’t really let up for the past two hours.’
You need to examine him. If his contractions have been going since four then that’s already eleven hours he’s been labouring. You need to check his dilation status.
‘Why don’t you go lay down?’ You suggest. ‘I’ll give you a foot rub. Maybe it’ll distract from the hunger.’
He looks pleased. ‘How’d you know my ankles have been killing me too? You’re a real minder reader, babe.’
‘Doctor’s institution.’
‘I, uh,’ he stops short, huffing as he struggles to lift his heavy body out of the chair. ‘I’m not sure I can make it up the stairs.’
He couldn’t. He’d been sleeping in the downstairs guest room since he was 32 weeks. He never said anything and you didn’t either. Given how he still hadn’t caught on to the fact that he was carrying a baby, he likely thought he’d put on a lot of weight and was too embarrassed to mention it.
‘We’ll do it on the couch.’ You tell him.
He waddles over to the living area. You can tell from his walk that the baby is already sitting low in his pelvis, forcing his hips open and belly to jut out further as he leans backward just to alleviate the pressure on his back.
Your boyfriend collapses on the couch and draws his legs up onto the cushions with a groan. You immediately set to work massaging his feet, trying not to gag at the stench wafting off his unwashed socks.
Your boyfriend closes his eyes and moans softly. You can’t tell if it’s from the foot rub or contractions but either way, he needs to be distracted.
Hushing him like a baby through his moaning, you slyly pull his legs further apart. His boxers were easy to get off with one hand as your other continues to massage his swollen ankle.
A quick examination confirms your suspicions: he’s five centimetres dilated. Thank God you haven't changed out of your scrubs yet.
Your boyfriend moans again, hands roaming over his belly and massaging the bottom with his thumbs. ‘Mm, feels so good, babe.’
You roll your eyes. ‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah,’ he breathes. ‘Mmm I feel so…tight.’ His palms dig into his belly as a tremor rolls through it. You actively watch as a muscle contracts beneath the skin, readying his body to push out a baby.
You continue massaging his feet, watching the stopwatch on your phone. His breath catches as another contraction grips his belly eleven minutes later. ‘I don’t think this is indigestion.’
‘Just keep breathing.’
‘Maybe I should go to hospital. It feels like something is moving in my stomach.’
‘I’m a doctor,’ you remind him with barely disguised disdain. How could he forget the one thing that pays for all his luxuries?
‘Babe, it really feels like something is moving my guts around, and-oh!’
He throws his head back and clasps his belly. It shakes beneath his fingers. ‘Ow, that hurts!’
You massage the underside of his gravid stomach. He’s not dilated enough to push yet but his water had definitely broken already. His boxers were soaked when you pulled them off.
You both stay like that for a while, your boyfriend moaning through his contractions and you massaging his feet like that would detract from the pain.
At a quarter-to-five, his contractions are six minutes apart. Your boyfriend is a mess, huffing and groaning as his belly slowly evicts its long-term tenant. You’d already fetched towels and laid them down beneath him.
‘Babe,’ he says, ‘I think I need an ambulance.’
‘You don’t need an ambulance.’
‘Something isn’t right.’ Your boyfriend tries to sit up but fails to bend at his midsection. He instead reaches down to cup his entrance. ‘I t-think there’s something coming out of me.’
‘Just keep taking slow, deep breaths.’ You instruct. ‘Don’t try to push.’
‘Can you-ugh! Can you check I hit Save?’
You roll your eyes again but oblige. Then you turn the computer off.
Your boyfriend is grinding his hips down onto the couch when you return to his side. ‘Oh,’ he’s saying, ‘oh my God!’
You pull his legs apart to check his dilation. He’s now at eight centimetres. Still not enough.
Another two hours pass. Your boyfriend doesn’t move from the couch, hopeless to do anything but groan through the pain of his contracting belly. You flutter around, readying the room for delivery. You’d been sterilising your equipment for weeks in preparation for this moment.
An hour and a half later you notice your boyfriend is pushing. Lazily, that being said. The man didn’t have effort for anything in life. Why would that change now?
But you haven’t examined him in twenty minutes. You race back to the couch. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Babe, there is something in me!’ He cries out, hands flying back to his belly. ‘Oh my God, it hurts!’
You check his progress one more time. Ten centimetres. He’s fully dilated. It’s go time.
As it turns out, you barely need to instruct him. Your boyfriend was listening to his body, pushing only when you gave the okay but somehow knowing to wait for the contractions each time. Knowing him, he likely gained his basic knowledge of childbirth from porn.
Your boyfriend is screaming by the time the baby is crowning. His knuckles are bone-white against the couch cushions and his belly is red and glistening with sweat.
‘Push.’ You say when another contraction hits him.
He screams and bares down again. The baby’s head has stretched him to the max. It’s a miracle he hasn’t torn.
‘Is something coming out?’ He asks between breaths. ‘I can feel it-oh!’
The baby’s head pops free, a wet mess of birthing fluid tangled in its dark hair.
‘Keep pushing.’ You tell your boyfriend.
He does and soon enough the shoulders are out, followed by the legs. Your baby slips free into your waiting hands and you immediately set to work cleaning her nose and cutting the umbilical cord.
The baby’s out, but your boyfriend isn’t done yet.
Once the baby is cleaned and wrapped, you set her down in the bassinet you purchased months ago and check on your boyfriend.
He’s panting heavily, one hand resting on his slowly-deflating stomach. ‘Is it out?’
‘You need to birth the placenta.’ You tell him. ‘Get ready.’
You give him another moment to catch his breath before pressing down lightly on his belly. He screams again and reactively starts pushing.
Ten minutes later, the placenta is out and your boyfriend’s breaths are slowly starting to even out.
‘Are they-‘ he asks, looking at the bassinet. ‘Is it…’
You put down the sponge you’d been cleaning him with and wander over to pick your baby up. Gently, you bring her over to your boyfriend’s arms and place her on his chest. She starts crying immediately.
‘Congrats.’ You slap him on the shoulder. ‘You’re a full-time Dad.’
He looks up at you. ‘What is she supposed to do while I’m gaming?’
‘Looks like that’s a problem you’ll be figuring out between laundry and cooking. Oh, and don't forget to change her. I'm not dealing with dirty diapers after work.'
You won't be dealing with any of the cleanup, but he will learn that quickly.
He looks between the daughter you’d inseminated him with and his deflating belly. The dots are connected but he’s not bright enough to say it. ‘She’s very cute,’ He looks back up to you, ‘maybe one day we could give her a sibling.’
You lean down to kiss his forehead, then your daughter’s. ‘Whatever you want, babe. Let me know when you’re ready for player four to join.’
Normally one’s arousal settled in the last few months of pregnancy but that wasn’t the case for Alex. At nearly ten months pregnant, he spent every day pleasuring himself just to take the edge off his horniness. Tonight it wasn’t enough.
Alex moaned loudly as Brett thrust into him. He was bent over the couch, one hand holding his hanging baby belly in place. They’d been going at it since nine o’clock that evening and Alex still hadn’t orgasmed properly.
‘Oh God, I’m gonna come.’ Brett heaved.
Alex slammed back on his cock. ‘Yes. Yes. Fill me with your seed.’
Brett came a moment later with a guttural moan. Alex felt the bottom of his belly inflate with the other man’s sperm but he still barely came himself.
Sliding out of him, Brett smacked his ass before backing away. ‘God, that was so good.’
Alex straightened up. It had been good, but it wasn’t what he was looking for.
He reached for his phone and thirty minutes later, Speed Dial Number 3 had replaced Brett.
‘Your belly is so fucking hot.’ Matt groaned, forcing Alex up and down on his dick as the mattress shook beneath them.
Alex moaned in sync with the thrusts, his belly bouncing as he rode the football player hard.
Matt gripped each side of his belly. ‘So, are they mine?’
Alex scowled, panting. They always ruined it by talking. ‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’
‘I would actually.’ Matt continued working Alex up and down his cock. ‘I’m jealous of anyone who can get you this big. I mean, just look at you. You’re a dream!’
Alex groaned as he bared down. He didn’t want to talk about who knocked him up; he just wanted to orgasm sometime this year!
It wasn’t Matt who’d gotten him pregnant but it also wasn’t Brett. In truth, Alex had narrowed it down to four possible candidates: three randoms and one regular. But considering how close together the timing had been, Alex couldn’t know for sure.
And it didn’t matter, because he didn’t care. He wanted to be pregnant. He wanted to be so overly filled with babies that he could barely walk. To watch as his belly wobbled with every step he took. That was his dream and he’d finally achieved it.
Alex braced one hand under his overburdened belly as he slid off Matt and climbed to his feet. ‘It’s late,’ he said. ‘You should go.’
‘Just like that, huh?’ Matt grinned. ‘How about round two?’
‘You’re not what I need right now.’
‘Damn.’ Matt laughed as he rolled to the side of the bed and stood. He began getting dressed. ‘Being pregnant has made you a real brat.’
He came over and kissed Alex on the cheek. ‘Call me when you want to go again.’
Alex said nothing. Matt laughed again and turned on his heel toward the door. Alex listened until the apartment door closed before heading for the bathroom. He’d just have to do it himself.
Five minutes later, he was a moaning mess as he bounced on a dildo, rocking the bed as he gyrated fiercely.
‘Ohh, oh my God.’ Alex moaned. This was what he’d been looking for. What a waste of time with the others.
The babies stirred inside him. No doubt all the bouncing around had woken them up. Alex rubbed the left side of his belly where a cramp was forming while the other hand kept his hole occupied.
A mirror sat opposite his bed. Alex’s gaze found and remained fixated on his pregnant form as he fucked his hole vigorously. He’d always been turned on by pregnancy and now he had it in all its round, stuffed glory.
He came within minutes, white stripes painting the bedsheets. The babies were kicking up a storm as he dildo slid out of his whole. Alex rubbed his belly with both hands as he came down from his high. ‘Guess that’s what you all needed too, huh?’
Finally, he’d gotten what he was looking for. Now it was time to shower.
He’d just taken off step off the mattress when a pop sounded and liquid trickled down his legs. Alex looked down in horror at the water pooling around his feet. Suddenly he realised why the babies were kicking so much, and it wasn’t because of the sex he’d been having all night.
It’s your wedding day and you’re filled to the brim with wriggling babies. Your labour started several hours ago but you’re under strict orders from the alpha not to push until midnight when the wedding’s over.
You’re a mess. Every step you take up the aisle is overwhelmed with the need to push. One of the babies is already low in your birth canal, ready to be born. You pray the ceremony will go fast and you won’t birth your pups on the altar.
But here’s the thing.
It’s a hot day and labour has already doused you in a layer of sweat. Your belly is contracting violently beneath your dress and your knees threaten to give out with every breath you exhale.
The alpha knows, and he’s angry. He’s already made good on his threats about what he’ll do if you push. Now he’s the only thing holding you up, your hands clasped together as the officiant reads a piece of scripture. You’re panting under your breath and he’s squeezing your hands in warning.
When the time for vows comes around, the alpha recites his perfectly. You’re asked to recite yours but you can barely breathe.
‘I-‘ you start, but a contraction squeezes your belly so hard that your knees buckle. The alpha catches you and pulls you up before you hit the ground.
‘Do not forget what I promised you if you disobey me.’ He snarls in your ear.
Your blood freezes. ‘I-‘ you try again, but your eyes widen. ‘Oh no.’
The baby is crowning, and there are still twelve hours to go.
