#multiple birth

[fragrant-stars]

lol ok I'm curious- do you know any twins / triplets / etc?

twin (fraternal)

twin (identical)

triplet

other multiple birth (quadruplet or more?)

I'm a twin (fraternal)

I'm a twin (identical)

I'm a triplet

I was in a multiple birth (quadruplet or more)

I do not know any twins/triplets/etc

Voting ended onFeb 3, 2024

[birthanon]

🤰🏠3️⃣🪑🩲🫴🖐️

+Our lovely mama is trapped in her basement, theres barely anything usefull

Hello thanks for the great ask! And to everyone else, thank you for all your asks. I have seen them, but there are also like twenty of them, so It will take me a while to work through them. For now, here is this story.

Contains: fpreg, triplet birth, intense birth denial, pushing baby back in, self-birth denial, clothing birth.

Aspen clung to the railing of the rickety wooden staircase carefully navigating down to the unfinished basement of her new home. Her massive triplet belly ballooned out before her, covered in loose blue nightgown, making it impossible to see the steps she was navigating. As she reached the bottom, a contraction struck her, and she leaned up against the wall, shaking her hips as she breathed through it. These practice contractions were getting more and more frequent, but her husband was out of town until tomorrow morning, and she still had baby beds to bring upstairs and put together.

Walking past the few empty boxes and the old chair the last residents had left down there, Aspen found the box that held the last crib, and hoisted it. It was heavy and awkward. Her body ached, especially since she’d already lugged two other cribs up those stairs today. But she persisted, dragging it over the unfinished cement floor and to the wooden stairs.

As for those, she dragged the box up and over each stair individually, sweating with the effort. She was only three steps up before another contraction hit. She panted her way through it, concerned with how close the last two contractions had come. The pressure was definitely increasing, which wasn’t good. She wanted her husband with her for this birth, which definitely needed to be in a hospital, because there was no way she was going through three births without an epidural. 

Well, she decided, she’d get this set up, then she’d rest to slow down her labor until her husband got home.

The contraction ended, and she began the slow, thump, thump, thump of dragging the heavy crib up one stair at a time. She was about half way up, when a rumbling started. A distant roar at first, like a passing plane or a rumbling lawn mower, then suddenly, it was all around her. The house shook. The stairs swayed—and then she was falling.

She barely had time to process that the stair railing must have given way, sending her toppling face first toward the ground. She threw out her arms to catch herself instinctively just as she smashed into the ground belly first.

There was a massive increase in pain-pressure. Her belly seized. She cried out.

Then the rumbling was over. She checked herself. Her hands stung from the impact with the cement, her stomach ached, but she was otherwise fine. Slowly, cautiously, she sat up, groaning a bit as she did. Her heart was pounding, but she was fine. Except, she realized, there was something sticky between her legs.

She reached down under her dress, shocked at the slick feeling between her legs, and her soaked panties. Had the pressure and fear of her fall caused her to pee? Then she pulled her hand away, and noticed the slight reddish tint, and the musky scent. No, this wasn’t pee. Her waters had broken.

Well, time to get to the hospital. She stood up carefully, then groaned as another contraction wrapped around her stomach. It was so much worse without the softening impact of her waters. She groaned, wrapping around herself, feeling for the first time, the instinctive desire to push.

Aspen ignored it off course, it was far too early and she wasn’t at the hospital. She breathed carefully until the pain eased. Then forced herself to straighten, bracing her low hanging stomach with one hand. 

That was when she saw the stairs—or rather the lack there-of. The whole rickety wooden contraption had collapsed, leaving the door to get out of the basement far out of reach. Wel, fuck.

That was fine, she’d just call 911 and have them get her out of there. She reached into her pockets—because of course she wouldn’t be caught in a pocketless dress. But, no phone. Eyes wide, she started scanning the wreckage of the staircase and her immediate surroundings. It took several minutes and another, even more demanding contraction, before she found the phone, several feet from where she’d landed, screen down on the floor.

She leaned down to get it awkwardly, spreading her legs so she could get lower, her large stomach hanging low, brushing the ground as she reached, until finally, she got her hands around it. Cradling it gently, she began slowly straightening, using her free hand to brace her back. She was halfway up, legs spread wide, when the next contraction struck. Strong, vise-like. Bent as she was, with plenty of space between her legs, instinct screamed push! and she obeyed, tucking her head in and pushing with all her strength.

To her horror, that moment caused movement, the stretching of something deep inside. She screamed with a mixture of pain, effort, and fear, and immediately stopped pushing, but the damage was done. 

Cautiously, while she was still down, she reached a hand up, nudging aside her soaked panties and sticking two fingers up inside her. Instead of feeling her cervix, she found the head, wet and hard. She gasped, and instinctively pulled back as her touch jostled the head and shot agony through her stretching cervix. 

She straightened slowly, though she couldn’t quite get her legs all the way together. Everything down low felt strange, stretched, like a cantaloupe was trying to emerge from her butt. Frantically, she turned to her phone, only to find the screen completely shattered. She pushed a couple buttons, but it was completely unresponsive.

She was trapped. She had no way to call for help. And her triplets were coming.

Her heart started pounding harder, but she tried to breathe through the panic even as her vision blended with tears. She staggered over to the old chair and collapsed into it, legs spread. And cried, tears running down her cheek, lacing her tongue with salt.

Just as they were beginning to dry up, another contraction hit. Rhythmic seizing that started at her back and reached across her massive womb, a stabbing pain, like she was being wrapped up in a burning lasso. She moaned through the agony, feeling her cervix stretch, feeling the baby move down. 

The pain lessened, and she kept crying. Hopeless and scared, as more and more contractions came and went. It wasn’t until she pushed and felt burning as her lips stretched that she was snapped out of her fear-induced funk. 

She instantly stopped pushing. As soon as the pain stopped, she reached down, and felt the bulge of her lips. The first head had yet to emerge, but it was right there. And she would not be giving birth alone in an unfinished basement on a rickety old chair. She needed a plan.

She glanced around the basement, evaluating what she had—an old washer and dryer, the chair she was sitting on, the crib unassembled and buried under some stair rubble, and a stack of empty boxes, most of which had been collapsed. There was the door she couldn’t reach, and a single narrow window which told her it was already dark out—how long had she sat there crying? An hour at least she figured.

Climbing out the window was probably a stretch, but perhaps if she could get up there, she could yell for help. Satisfied with the plan, Aspen stood, legs spread wide, baby just behind her lips, and began waddling awkwardly toward the window, dragging the chair behind her. 

As she awkwardly propped one foot on the chair, ready to clamber up, the next contraction caught her. She groaned, curling forward, legs spread, and the head began to stretch her lips, setting her labia ablaze with pain. She shot her hand down, expecting to find the baby practically out, but though the bulge was definitely larger, the babe was still safely ensconced in her vaginal, all save for a tiny, quarter-sized patch of hair, which vanished as her contraction ended.

All for the better, she thought as she gathered herself, clung to the window ledge, and hauled herself up the rest of the way onto the chair. It wobbled under her weight,  and her large torpedo stomach, pressed against the wall from where she stood. But from here, she could reach the window latch.

She undid it, then began to pull on the window to try and get it open. The intense effort caused another contraction. Her body screamed at her to spread her legs, but the chair was small. They were pressed awkwardly together, close enough she could feel the bulge between her legs increase and touch her thighs. The contraction gave way—the window did not. 

It took about fifteen minutes and three more contractions, her baby getting lower and lower, before finally, the window gave way and slid open. Aspen panted, leaning against the wall, congratulating herself for her success. Then she propped herself up on the window sill and stuck her head out, her stomach pressed between the wall. 

No one was in sight. She called for help, over and over. When the next contraction came, she let herself scream with pain. 

But no one came. She persisted, calling and screaming for help, as contractions seized her, and her lips began to burn more and more, demanding she spread her legs and get the baby out. 

Well, if calling for help wouldn’t work, she’d try crawling through the window. She thought she remembered hearing somewhere that humans could get through anywhere their shoulders could get through, and she thought her shoulders would fit.

First, she reached down between her legs, feeling the head through her panties. It was definitely in the process of crowning, despite her legs being pressed together on this chair. That wouldn’t work for climbing through a window. So, taking a deep breath, she braced her hand against her baby, and pushed it tentatively back in.

She’d thought she was already at a ten on the pain scale—this, this was so much worse. She screamed, but kept pushing through her whole body revolted, until her lips were no longer bulging. She’d need her legs together to get through the window.

Then, whole body shaking from the effort, pain, and shock, Aspen thrust her hands through the window,  and began pulling herself up and through it. Her head made it through all right, her shoulders scrapped a bit at the side, but made it. 

She kicked off the chair, hearing it clatter to the ground as she pulled herself through on her shaking arms. Her large chest made it through, her night dress falling open and letting her see her sweaty boobs when she looked down—lovely. 

Grunting she dragged herself further forward, then she felt her stomach hit the window sill, and her progress stopped. No. She had to get out. 

She waited for the next contraction, when her whole stomach shrunk with the effort of pushing her baby out, then tried again with all her might. And her plan worked! She moved, just a few inches, before her arms gave out and she had to focus on not pushing while her legs and most of her stomach hung on the other side of the window, and her lips began to burn once again.

It was hard to breathe like this, and her back burned with the weight of her stomach dangling freely, pressed against the wall and the window sill. She focused on regaining her breath as she waited for the next contraction, then pulled herself forward a few more inches until her arms gave out once again. 

God, but the pain of the contraction was so much worse when her massive stomach was being actively compressed by the window. She wasn’t even pushing, but even still, she could feel her lips parting once more. 

The next contraction, she tried to pull herself forward more, but made no progress no matter how she pulled. The next contraction she tried again, same result, except the burning down there was really starting up again. The baby was starting to come out.

This wasn’t going to work, Aspen realized. And began trying to back pedal, forcing herself back inside. But she made no progress that way either. She was stuck.

Time stretched. Contractions raged, twice as agony inducing as before. She cried and screamed, and tried not to push as her baby stretched her open more and more, forced forward by the pressure on her stomach and its siblings. From where she lay, she could see the moon through her tear-filled eyes, and watch it rise. Sirens sounded in the city, one passed right by her street, and she thought, perhaps, she’d been rescued, and then it drove on. Leaving Aspen alone, fully feeling her baby’s nose slowly slide out of her as she hung half-in, half-out of the window. Completely stuck.

Then with a particularly hard contraction, her baby’s head shot forward. Aspen screamed as her baby’s head shot out of her, bagging out her panties, touching her thighs, water splattering below.

If she didn’t get out soon, the baby would fall from her to its death. She couldn’t let that happen. With a renewed burst of energy, adrenaline high, Aspen braced herself against the ground, with her hands, brought her feet up awkwardly against the wall, baby head hanging out of her, and pushed.

And then she was moving, falling back, out of the window. She just managed to catch at the ledge with her hands, drawing her fall to a stop. Her stomach slammed against the wall again, leaving her breathless. 

She hung through one more contraction, then dropped to the ground, legs spread, baby jolting painfully in her pussy. 

Panting and exhausted, she leaned against the wall. She had to make a decision before the next contraction: to birth or not to birth. The baby was practically already out, she could get the rest of it out and then keep trying to escape except—she had nowhere to put the baby and no way to cut the umbilical cord. Once the first baby was out, she would be stuck.

So, bracing herself for the worst pain in her life, she cupped her hand around the baby’s head, and shoved. She screamed. Her vision whitened. Her baby kicked in protest. She fell to her knees, and vomited. But, when she’d recovered herself, the baby was safely back inside.

Using the wall, she dragged her exhausted sore body to her feet once more. If she dragged the washer below the door, then put the chair on top of that, maybe she could reach the door and get out that way.

She shuddered at the thought of trying to move that old, heavy machine with her exhausted, trembling body and a baby actively crowning, but it was the only way.

So she waddled over, braced herself, and shoved. Braced herself and shoved. When a contraction came, she stopped, pressed her hand against her soggy, stretched panties, and pressed against her stretched lips, holding the baby in place. As soon as it was over she resumed pushing of a different sort. 

If she was offered a million dollars, she couldn’t have told anyone how long it took her to move the washing machine across the basement. It felt like days, but by the time she’d succeeded it was still dark outside. 

She fell to her knees, sobbing in relief when she looked up and saw the door just above her. Then on her hands and knees, she started clearing away the wood so she could get the machine in just the right place. It felt so good to not be standing. She was so tired. Five contractions later, still holding the head back despite her body’s protest and the increasingly painful contractions, the stairs were cleared away. Two more contractions and the machine was in the right spot. 

She waddled awkwardly, slowly back across the room to the chair, braced against it for a contraction, then dragged it back across the floor with her. She was halfway through getting the chair on top of the washing machine when the next contraction came. Her muscles were engaged, her hands were full, she couldn’t hold the head back, so it lurched forward again, stretching her wide, after she’d been so close to giving birth for so long. Aspen gasped, spreading her legs instinctively. 

Once the chair was in place, she reached down to touch the bulge in her undies. She intended to push it back in, but remembering the horrific agony of doing it last time, she pulled her shaking hand away. She couldn’t go through that again. She’d just have to manage with the head as it was.

So, with the baby’s head fully crowning in her panties, her lips stretched wide, fire roaring through her body, she began to try and clamber on top of the washing machine. But she couldn’t quite get her legs up far enough. At the next contraction, she gave up, holding her baby’s head in her at a full crown, panting in exhaustion. 

When it was done, she lumbered over, legs spread wide, to the box that held the crib. She didn’t have the strength to lift it up, so she bent down, legs spread, stretched pussy in the air, and dragged the box the few feet to the washing machine. Another contraction—then with the crib box as a footstool, she managed to clamber up onto the washing machine, then onto the chair perched wobbly on top.

She reached up, and her hand could touch the door, but she was still several feet from the door knob. There was no ledge for her to stand on, or pull herself further up.

Perhaps, she could drag the dryer over, but there was no way she’d get it on top of the washer in her condition.

She wasn’t getting out.

In one last desperate attempt, she jumped toward the door handle. Her fingers just brushed the base of it. Then she fell back down. She landed on the chair awkwardly as a contraction hit, and her baby shot through the rest of the way, bagging out of her panties. 

She gasped— climbed slowly off the chair, then sat on it, legs spread, stomach low, filling the space between her legs. As she considered her next move, another contraction came, and she pushed. The shoulders began to spread her—and god she thought she’d been spread before. But she was too tired to scream at the new, burning pain. 

Exhausted, robotic, she pushed aside her panties, and gave another final push, there was a gush, and then her baby was in her hands, crying lustily. Smiling, teary-eyed, Aspen pulled it to her. Her dress was dirty, ripped, and drenched with sweat. The baby’s umbilical cord stretched from its stomach to under her dress, warm and wet against her thigh.

She looked down from the chair, which was still perched atop the washing machine. 

So, she was doing it here. She needed to at least not give birth to the other two while on top of the washing machine. So slowly, awkwardly, holding her baby close to her chest, she clambered down the washing machine. Then she pulled the chair down with her. Sitting had been nice, for her birth. 

It was awkward to shift the baby from one arm to another to get her dress off. She set it across the splintered wooden chair, then sat down and shimmied out of her underwear. Finally, she allowed herself to collapse back, guiding the baby to her leaking breast to drink.

The next contractions came nearly immediately, moving her next baby down. She pushed freely with it, for the first time in her birthing process, and it came fast. Two pushes and she was bulging. Another, and the dreaded, familiar burn began again. 

She leaned further back in her chair, so she could spread her legs wider, off the side of the chair. She needed to focus, needed to push. But she had a baby in her hands, and she didn’t want to hurt it. 

The crib was the solution.

Groaning, she fell to her knees, then placed her baby on the dress covered chair. Her legs were spread still, giving the baby space to crown as she worked to open the crib. Contraction. Push, The baby eased forward. Then it was done, and she was back to wrestling with the crib. She’d already put together two that day, or at this point, yesterday, so she could work efficiently. It was a race. She was pushing, but her body was flagging, the progress was slow, but consistent. She had to move around some, clambering around on her spread knees, fully spread around her baby’s head. Then, the head was out with another gush, right after she’d finished putting together the frame. Grabbing the thin pad, she pulled herself to her feet, lay down the pad, then a contraction was coming and she pushed. Her hands shot down, and she pulled the baby from her, panting with relief. 

The baby cried, and she held it to her, crying as well, with relief. Two down. One to go. 

It was awkward, maneuvering the babies into the bed while they were still attached to her. She had to pull the chair close to the crib so she could sit down as the next contraction came. She moaned and pushed as the sun began to cast light in through her window.

She crowned as the sunlight spread across the floor. Her third baby’s head shot from her as she heard the door open upstairs, and heard her husband call her name. And, as the shoulders spread her open, the door to the basement opened, and her husband appeared, just as the final baby passed from her, crying out its welcome to the world.

[bigpushes]

You know how sometimes there's a surprise twin? She goes through labour and birth and expects to be able to relax when another baby that never showed up on scans drops into her birth canal and she has to labour again? What if it's a surprise triplet tho? She knew or suspected that it was going to be two 7 pound babies and after the second one is out she waits for the placenta but a third baby enters her birth canal instead.

a surprise triplet, especially with expected twins, is just soooo good

she feels sort of off through the whole pregnancy, just carrying larger than what seems expected for twins of that size. occasionally she feels kicks in strange places, but she has so many scans, and nothing ever shows up. her partner jokes about triplets ("mmm, maybe even 4 of them, baby, god I'd love to see you that full") when they lay together in bed and they run their hands along the swell of her belly, but it has to be just that. a joke.

she has two healthy twins suckling at her breasts when it clicks that something is really, really wrong. her contractions had tapered off after the second delivery, giving her some reprieve as she waited to deliver the placenta. her cunt was bruised and sore, and each surge of pressure made her groan with pain, entirely wrung out from exhaustion. "need to move," she mumbles to her partner after about 30 minutes have passed, eager to get the rest of the birth over with so she can finally rest. "maybe... nnnngh, maybe gravity will help."

she settles on the floor of their shower, warm water beating down on her back as she nurses her twins, cooing encouragingly as her womb begins to contract more regularly. "mmm, think its finally coming free," she breathes, her exhale trailing off into a small grunt as she gives her first push. her partner takes hold of the infants and bundles them up in warm towels, carefully placing them in a soft nest while they wait for the placenta. "mommy will be... be with you soon, babies." her lips part as a soft moan escapes her, pressure mounting in her pelvis. "mm, d-didnt expect to feel this way. there's just..." she trails off, eyes widening in shock as her hand flies down between her legs. "oh. oh, god. it another oneeeee! its another baby!"

she's pushing again before her partner can stop her, but they scramble to help her into a squatting position. "let me see, baby. just breathe, okay? you need to stop pushing for a second."

"I cantttttt," she shrieks, throwing her head back to strain as she feels the familiar burn of something passing through her cervix. "oh, its coming. fuck, its so big." she pauses to suck in a breath before going straight back to pushing, bearing down as hard as she can. "holy fuck, its coming!"

"spread your legs, baby. I need to see." they manage to work her thighs open a bit further, and her poor, battered cunt is beginning to bulge with each frantic push. but something seems- no. their face drains of color, and they immediately cup their hand over her pussy, earning an angry roar of 'let it out!' in response as they block the baby from descending. "stop, baby. stop. she's coming, but she's breech."

"oh shit," she pants. a flicker of panic crosses over her face, but its gone in a flash as she succumbs to the next surge of pressure. "ooooh, I can't stop, baby." her cries are frantic, and the baby's bottom is beginning to cause a significant protrusion between her thighs. "she's comingggg. ahhh, let her out! just let her come!"

they hesitate for a moment before they move their hand away—free of any obstruction, the baby "crowns" immediately, stretching out her mother's tissues far wider than either of her siblings. she howls in pain as one leg slips free and then the other, only stopping to breathe when the baby is born to her torso.

"r-ready to catch? again?"

they smile, eyes shining with pride. "for you, love? always."

[hush-writes-preg]

Something I cannot get out of my head is a surprise twin only being discovered as it’s about to be born, or maybe even after…

Oh yeah, that's some good stuff. 🥰 Imagine spending your pregnancy in preparation for a singleton—picking out names, prepping space for the baby furniture, talking to the little one in your tummy. You're eager to meet your child, and there's no hint that you're carrying more than one.

Then you go through all of the stress of labor, only to discover at what's supposed to be the end that you're only halfway done. Your body just hops onto a fresh round of contractions to push out a baby you weren't prepared for, and you have no choice but to go along with it.

Imagine having the second round of contractions start and seeking out your midwife in panic, confused as to why the delivery of the placenta feels so intense. They examine you again, puzzled, only to sheepishly inform you that you're not done yet.

[shockspectrum]

For the birth prompt asks♥️🫃🏽(trans) 3️⃣ 🏙️(elevator) ✋ ⌛

tags: trans man, triplets, public (elevator), pushing the baby back in, overdue

he felt the contractions ever since he woke up. he KNEW he was in labor - he could see his huge belly, full with overdue triplets who wouldn’t stop moving, tensing painfully with each contraction. he was so big, and so full of babies, and in so much pain, but he had no choice. he had to run errands. he was out of food, and he had to get his car repaired - he couldn’t afford to miss work.

they had only barely started when he woke up. he figured he’d have plenty of time to get back home before he was even fully dilated. all he had to do was take his car to the mechanic and buy groceries. it’d be fine, right? and plus, he had nobody who could do those things for him, so it’s not like he had an option.

by the time he had dropped his car off at the mechanic and waddled to the grocery store, his water had broken. he waved it off and just pretended it didn’t happen. surely he still has plenty of time. he’d heard so many horror stories of people in labor for days or weeks, and his had only been a few hours so far, so he was sure he wouldn’t have to worry about it.

eventually, he managed to pay for his groceries and get back to the mechanic to pick his car back up. he could already feel a head descending down his birth canal, but he convinced himself it’d be fine. he just hid his pain, swallowed his screams, and headed home.

in the car, he was finally free enough to express his pain. he didn’t have to hide it to keep from drawing too much attention. so with every contraction that ripped through his body, he SCREAMED in pain. it hurt so fucking bad. he felt the head descending lower and lower. he wanted to go to the hospital, but he knew he couldn’t afford it, so he just drove home.

he pulled into the parking lot and managed to waddle into the elevator to get to his apartment. the other person in the elevator was too engrossed in their phone to pay attention to him, even though he was HUGE, but he still tried to keep his composure. he bit his tongue to keep from screaming as the most powerful contraction yet forced the baby’s head out into his pants. he looked at the stranger and, when he was sure they wouldn’t notice, put his hand on the bulge in his pants and slowly pushed the baby back in. he was struggling not to cry at this point, fighting to keep his breathing regular, as the worst pain he’s ever felt in his life just got worse and worse. i just need to make it to my apartment, he thought desperately.

finally, the elevator dinged that it was on his floor. he waddled out and down to his apartment, barely getting through the door before falling to his knees, forcing his pants down, and screaming his first baby out.

and now he has two more to go.

[eiko82]

Bond between multiple birth siblings

You know how people often say that twins have a unique bond, how they finish each other’s sentences and all that jazz?

Does that also happen with triplets, quadruplets, etc?

[shockspectrum]

🤰🏻2️⃣🏫👖

tags: fpreg, twins, academic setting, birth in pants

i see a lot of people talking about giving birth during an exam, so let's mix it up a bit.

she's a college student who has an exam coming up, and hasn't studied. she's been too busy, too tired, too inconvenienced by how hugely pregnant she is to focus. she's spending all of her time asleep, eating, or in and out of doctor's appointments, and she's barely been able to even make it to lectures. she's huge and heavy, and just walking is a struggle. everyone thought she couldn't do it, and that just made her want to do it more. she refused to take a semester off, refused to ask to schedule the exams after the babies were born. she was determined to prove everyone wrong and show them that she can do anything she put her mind to.

so now, here she is, cramming for the exam she has tomorrow. she's been in labor all day, and her water broke hours ago. skipping this cram sesh is NOT an option - she would definitely fail her exam if she didn't study. so she forces herself to ignore the ever-growing pain, the weight moving lower and lower in her pelvis. "as soon as i finish this, i'll go to the hospital, but NOT before then," she tells herself. her belly tightens over and over again, pain after pain shooting through her. breathing is getting more and more difficult, and the urge to push is unbearable. her hand cramps from how hard she's gripping her pencil. "hngggh, please, just wait another hour," she urges her baby, resisting the urge to push. "i just need to finish this one last chapter..."

by the time she finishes, she's sobbing from the pain. the baby in her cunt had been trying to force its way out, but getting blocked by the chair. now that she's done, she stands up, and screams as the baby crowns all at once. she gasps and pants, struggling to take her pants off. she drops to her knees on the floor, reaching between her legs to feel the baby's head hanging out of her. "oh my god, oh my god, my baby- AHHHHHHHH!" she screams as another contraction hits her, and the baby slips out. the baby cries, and so does she, desperately pulling it up to her and cleaning its face. she never thought she'd be here, at 3 in the morning, birthing at her desk.

her sobs only grow louder as the contractions don't ease up. she'd already known she was pregnant with twins, and it feels like the second baby is even bigger. each push moves this one less than the first one, and the contractions only grow more intense. she screams and screams, desperately clinging to her first baby to soothe both it and herself, as the second twin tries to crown. after each push, each contraction, it slips back in, and her progress is lost.

"please, please, AHHHHHH!! fuck, please, it won't come out," she begs. but nobody can hear her.

[hush-writes-preg]

A fast food cashier/service crew (McDonald, KFC... ) become a mother in the peak hours inside the busiest franchise. If she take maternity leave earlier, maybe it is not enough to raise the triplets in her belly?

Working while pregnant is difficult.  Working while pregnant with triplets through your due date is another level of tough altogether.

You're a cashier at a popular fast food place, but even though you're employed for over 30 hours a week, you don't work enough to be eligible for maternity leave and other benefits.  So you've been forced to continue working long after others would have tapped out, despite the fact that you're carrying triplets.  Your massive belly makes it hard to get around the kitchen and your coworkers, which is probably why you've been banished to the little side office to take care of the drive-through. 

You woke up this morning with cramps, but since you've been dealing with them for weeks now, you didn't want to make an issue of it.  So you stand by the register, one hand clutching your tight belly while the other takes payments, and do your best to soldier through another day.

You start at 8 AM, and by 10 AM the cramps are bad enough to leave you gritting your teeth.  Two of your coworkers have called out sick today, so the restaurant is understaffed with the lunch rush looming on the horizon.  You can barely step away for a bathroom break, so when you feel something trickle into your underwear, you just squeeze your legs together and hope no one notices.  You've only got to make it a few more hours.

By noon, cars are lined up around the building and you're panting through what can only be contractions, each one lifting your belly and leaving it rippling under your overstretched shirt.  It's all hands on deck right now, though, and there's no one to take your place.  You have to hold on.  Labor takes a while, right?  You can manage two more hours until the end of your shift and then drive straight to the hospital.

It's nearly 1 PM when something lurches deep in your pelvis and you're struck with the instinctual need to push.  Offering your current customer a shaky smile with their change, you wait until they drive away before reaching between your legs.  Something bulges there, round and firm beneath your stretch pants.  You're moaning and leaning against the register to rock your hips when the next customer arrives.  "Everything okay, ma'am?" they ask.

"Everything's fine," you manage, widening your stance and bearing down as the baby slips a few more inches into your birth canal.  "D-did you want fries with that?"