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@pregnant0101
"Waiting someone who help me to get out these babies, I've been so big. Carrying three babies hasn't been so easy"
pregnant feminine man
Very round belly!
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AI mpreg
Dropped and ready to pop!
A father-to-be who could give birth at 90 weeks is struggling with edema at 70 weeks.
“Pregnant Dad – The Waiting”
Morning light slipped gently through the thin curtains and filled the room. A soft golden glow spread across the old wooden floor. The cool air drifting in from the window moved quietly through the room, lightly stirring the edge of the floral blanket. On one side of the bed, a young woman was sleeping deeply. Her face was calm, her breathing slow and steady. It was as if all the noise and chaos of the world had remained outside that bed.
In the middle of the room, however, there was a different scene.
The man was standing there. His hair was messy, his face still carrying the softness of sleep… but the most striking thing about him was his noticeably round belly. It looked like the belly of someone many months into pregnancy. He had raised his arms above his head, fingers interlocked, stretching his whole body slowly. His muscles lengthened, his shoulders reaching upward.
He took a deep breath.
Then slowly let it out.
He had been doing this a lot in recent weeks. He had memorized the breathing exercises the doctor recommended. At first, the situation had felt strange to him. Carrying a growing life inside his belly as a man… It was the kind of thing people laughed about when they first heard it. But every morning now, he felt that it was real.
The small movements in his belly.
The occasional tiny kicks.
And every time he felt one of those kicks, a strange warmth spread through his heart.
He looked toward the bed.
The woman was still asleep.
Merve had worked late into the night. Her life had also changed recently. Because this strange miracle had turned both of their lives upside down.
He remembered the day they first found out.
They were sitting in the doctor’s office. There had been a small movement on the ultrasound screen. The doctor had first gone silent, then taken off his glasses and put them back on.
“This… is a very rare condition,” he had said.
Merve hadn’t understood at first.
The man had still been laughing.
“You’re joking, right?” he had asked.
But the doctor wasn’t joking.
And from that day on, their lives had taken a completely different path.
At first he had been afraid. He had thought about what people might say. Newspapers, television, curious eyes… But as time passed, those fears were replaced by something else.
Responsibility.
Love.
And waiting.
The man stretched again. This time he bent slightly while holding his belly. Back pain had started in recent months. The doctor had said that it was normal. His body was changing. His center of balance was shifting, and his muscles were learning to carry a new weight.
On the bedside table there was a half-full glass of water. Next to it were a few books and a small notebook. That notebook had become his closest companion in recent months.
He wrote in it every day.
Letters to the baby.
Sometimes he wrote things like this:
“Today I felt you kick for the first time. Your mother was asleep. I didn’t tell her. But I think you’re already impatient to come into the world.”
Sometimes he wrote his fears.
“I don’t know if I can be a good father.”
The man looked toward the window again. The sun had risen a little higher now. The room was completely filled with light.
Just then, there was a small movement in his belly.
Then another.
A gentle smile appeared on the man’s face.
“Good morning, little traveler,” he whispered.
He placed his hand on his belly.
“I’m awake too.”
A soft sound came from the bed behind him.
Merve had opened her eyes halfway. Her hair was scattered across the pillow.
“Are you doing exercises again?” she asked in a sleepy voice.
The man smiled.
“The doctor said every morning.”
Merve rested her head back on the pillow, but her eyes didn’t close completely.
“Did the baby kick?”
The man paused for a moment.
“Yes.”
A slow smile appeared on the woman’s face.
“I think the baby will be a morning person.”
The man laughed softly.
“I hope so.”
For a moment, silence filled the room.
But it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. It was peaceful. Both of them were thinking the same thing.
In a few weeks, their lives would change completely.
That tiny heartbeat would no longer exist only on a screen. It would beat in the real world.
The man took another deep breath.
Slowly lowered his arms.
The waiting continued.
But now there was more hope than fear. Because sometimes life brings a miracle from the most unexpected place.
And that miracle was growing in their home.
Kon didn't realise how much his life would change after hooking up with you that fateful night months ago...
... but he had no choice but to accept his fate when his belly blew up with a child, and his physique transformed before his eyes.
A Waiting That Wouldn’t Fit Into the Night
The inside of the house was lit with a soft glow. The yellow light spilling from the kitchen stretched through the open doorway into the living room, forming a warm island against the deep navy darkness of the night outside. Silence ruled the outdoors; only a faint sound of wind could be heard from somewhere unseen in the distance. Inside, however, two people stood in the very middle of one of the strangest and most meaningful periods of their lives.
The man stood by the kitchen counter, one hand resting on his hip, the other supporting his belly. He wore loose purple pants. His chest was bare, and his round, heavy stomach rose and fell gently with each breath. There was both bewilderment and acceptance in his expression. Behind his glasses, he looked at the woman standing across from him.
The woman stood a few steps away, one hand resting lightly on her own belly, smiling softly at him. Her turquoise tank top hugged her pronounced stomach. Despite the comfort of her shorts, there was a trace of fatigue in the way she stood. But it was not the fatigue of complaint—it was the weight of waiting.
“I think it kicked again,” the man said, looking down at his belly.
The woman laughed softly. “Mine just moved too. It’s like they’re talking to each other.”
The man tilted his head. “Maybe they really are.”
This sentence carried a meaning beyond ordinary imagination. Because their story was not ordinary. They were in the middle of a miracle they still could not fully explain, one that had begun months ago. The doctors were astonished, science was helpless—but what had happened had happened: they were both pregnant.
At first, they thought it was a mistake. Then something temporary. Then an illness. But as the weeks passed, both of their bodies adapted to the same transformation. The same food cravings, the same sleepless nights, the same back pain. The same impatience and the same fear.
The woman sat down on a chair. “Do you remember,” she said, “the day we first found out?”
The man took a deep breath. “How could I forget? I laughed when I saw the test results. I still don’t know if it was from nerves or shock.”
“I cried,” the woman said. “Not from fear. I felt as if something that had long been missing inside me had finally been completed.”
The man leaned gently against the counter. “I did too. But I’ll admit, when my first wave of nausea started, I didn’t feel quite so complete.”
The woman laughed more sincerely this time. “Now you understand, don’t you?”
He nodded. “Yes. It’s not just physical. When you know you’re carrying someone inside you every moment, even your thoughts change. You walk more carefully. You speak more slowly. You’re more afraid.”
“You love more,” the woman added.
The sentence hung in the kitchen air. They both fell silent for a while. The ticking of the clock could be heard. The apples and pears in the fruit bowl on the counter gleamed under the light. The bottle of liquid soap by the sink reminded them of the ordinariness of daily life. But their lives were no longer ordinary.
The man took slow steps toward the woman. They stood facing each other. Their two round bellies were so close they almost touched. The man reached out and placed his hand on her stomach. She did the same to his.
“Sometimes,” the man said, “I think what’s happening is a lesson.”
“What kind of lesson?”
“So that we can truly understand each other. Not just with words, but with our bodies. By carrying the same weight.”
“Do you call this a weight?” the woman asked.
He quickly shook his head. “The wrong word. I should say miracle. But miracles can be heavy sometimes.”
The woman rested her head on his shoulder. “When shared, the heaviness becomes lighter.”
The night was deepening. The darkness outside reflected against the windows, multiplying their silhouettes inside. It was as if they were not alone; as if their future selves—mother and father—were watching them from beyond the glass.
“Have you ever thought,” the woman whispered, “about how we’ll tell this to our children?”
The man smiled. “Maybe we won’t. They’ll arrive with their own miracles. Our story will just be the beginning.”
The woman closed her eyes. She felt the gentle movement inside her belly. “I’m not afraid anymore,” she said. “Whatever happens, we’re living this together.”
The man felt a stirring inside himself as well. “I’m not afraid either,” he said. “Because I’m not alone.”
At that moment, the silence inside the house changed. It was as if an invisible threshold had been crossed. Two separate bodies, two separate heartbeats—but a shared waiting. A hope too vast to fit into the night.
And under the soft kitchen light, holding each other, they waited for the arrival of a new morning.
Born from the Heart of Golden Silence
The living room was the same again. Cream-colored sofas, heavy curtains, a silence soaked into the walls over years… But this time, the person sitting in the center—though appearing the same—was no longer who they thought he was.
Inside the body everyone knew as “Zehra,” there lived someone whose name he had barely dared to whisper: Deniz.
The black dress was still on him. The golden belt wrapped around his stomach. The layered necklaces on his neck, the bracelets on his wrists… All of them had been placed on him like an inheritance. But to Deniz, they were not ornaments; they were reminders—of who he was expected to be, of who he was not.
The women sitting beside him touched him. One adjusted his arm, another the belt. The touches were well-intentioned, yet Deniz flinched inside. Because no one could see where he truly was. They were all still looking at the wrong title of his story.
Across from him, seven women sat in a crescent. Aunts, relatives, in-laws… Raised by the same rules of the same house, taught the same silence. They were looking at Deniz, but they were not seeing him.
Deniz took a deep breath. That breath was the preface to words he had imprisoned for years.
“When I came into this family,” he said, surprised by how steady his voice sounded, “you gave me a name. But that name never belonged to me.”
A stir rippled through the room. One woman straightened up. Another frowned. But Deniz didn’t stop. Because if he did, he would disappear again.
“You put gold on me,” he continued. “Dresses, roles, silence… But you never asked who I was.”
He placed his hands over his stomach. This body was his greatest contradiction. It carried meaning for everyone else, but for Deniz it had always been a question. Still, he did not run from it. Because without making peace with this body, he could never reach his voice.
“I am not a woman,” he said. The word fell into the room. Heavy. True. Irreversible.
“I am a man. A trans man. And for years, I shattered myself just to avoid breaking you.”
One of the women beside him pulled her hand away. The other still held on, but now with hesitation. Across the room, one woman began to cry. Another pressed her lips together tightly. This house was not used to sentences like these.
Deniz’s voice trembled—but it did not collapse.
“I will no longer be silent. I will not live inside a story that does not belong to me. This body, this house, this past… I will exist in all of them with my own name.”
A silence followed. But it was not the old silence.
This was the silence of a truth that had been heard but not yet digested.
The curtain stirred slightly. The house was still the same house. But for the first time, Deniz felt his inside and outside align.
The gold was still on him. But it was no longer a chain.
Because Deniz had finally spoken his name—not just inside himself, but out loud.
And this was the bravest story ever to begin in that house.