Zephyra Point of View

Why in the galaxy am I leaking so much?

I thought when they said 'your water will break,' it would be a dramatic splash, some yelling, and then labor would begin—not a continuous, endless downpour like I've got a miniature waterfall between my legs.

Honestly, if this keeps up, someone's going to mistake this delivery room for a water park.

Are all eight little donuts inside me peeing simultaneously?

Is that medically possible?

Should I ask?

Also - OW.

Everything hurts. My back, my legs, my organs, and a few things I didn't even know I had. I swear my spleen is giving up.

Meanwhile, there's this cluster of humans in white coats hovering around me like I'm an intergalactic science experiment. They're whispering medical lingo to each other - probably things like 'unprecedented uterine elasticity' and 'how is she not screaming yet?'

The room is... full. Efficient. A small army of nurses are moving around me with sharp focus, voices clipped and professional, their shoes squeaking softly against the sterile floor.

The doctors are just as intense - checking monitors, reading vitals, adjusting IV drips, giving out instructions in curt, precise tones.

They're throwing around words like 'stabilized', 'effacement', 'contractions interval', 'presentation', and occasionally glancing at the fetal monitor as if it holds the meaning of life.

To be fair, maybe it does. Eight of them, apparently.

"Vitals are within acceptable range. Continue to monitor. Pain levels rising - administer per patient request. Be prepared to escalate," The lead doctor - Dr. Rowan, says calmly to someone behind her.

Doctors and nurses - sharp, focused, methodical - buzz around me like I'm a high-stakes mission. Their hands are steady. Their eyes are locked on monitors. Their voices are calm but fast, trading updates and instructions like a surgical strike team.

"Vitals holding steady. Contractions intensifying."

"Blood pressure is stable. No signs of distress on fetal monitors."

I've been on the delivery bed for nearly five hours now and the contractions are only increasing every passing minute but the donuts are not coming out yet.

My whole stomach feels so full that I don't know how I'll be able to squeeze the eight of them out.

It literally feels like carrying a huge hill on my stomach.

Quite literally!

"Ensure warming units are ready for each infant," she says crisply. "Prepare for rapid succession delivery. Neonatal support will be on standby in two minutes."

Her tone is flat. Focused. Zero nonsense. Honestly, I respect that. It's reassuring - especially when my brain is the complete opposite.

Because while they're all calmly saving lives, I'm internally screaming into the void.

Hey there, goddess of childbirth! It's just me who is trying to fulfil your blessing of conceiving eight donuts at the same time.

Thank you so much for such precious gift, although you could've just made it a little easier for me by giving me twins for four times.

Anyways, goddess, I'm trying really hard not to cry or throw up, so if you could speed this along, that'd be great. Also; if this is some kind of divine test of pain tolerance, can I skip it? Maybe just write 'passed' on my soul and let me fast-forward to the baby cuddling part?

Can you please make it quicker and healthier?

I continued to talk to the goddess into the void but after a long chat, I didn't even get a single 'hmm' in response so not putting all my eggs in one basket, I called out for my ancestors who could help me with their power of virtue.

Okay. Okay, ancestors. Can someone up there hear me? Great-aunt Zerna, you gave birth to twins in the middle of a sword duel, didn't even drop your blade. Cool. Respect. But I'm not trying to win a trophy here, I'm trying to stay conscious while eight entire humans attempt to escape me like it's a clown car in there.

Grandmother Lira, you did a triple birth during a sandstorm and then led a caravan across a cursed desert. Very impressive.

But the truth is - I've officially outdone all of you.

I'm about to set the ancestral record for 'most babies evacuated from one body in a single sitting.' So, unless one of you shows up with divine backup, a muscle-relaxing charm, or - I don't know _ a morphine cloud, I am spiritually blocking you until this is over.

This is not a drill. This is not a drill powered by magical lineage. This is me - Zephyra - hosting the Olympics of childbirth and nobody brought snacks.

No reply from the goddess. No sign from the ancestors. Not even a dramatic gust of wind or flickering lights to say 'we got your back.'

Very saddening!

But before I can spiral further into the spiritual complaint box in my mind, Dr. Rowan finally lifts her eyes from the monitor and says the words I didn't realize I was desperate to hear:

"Ten centimeters. Full dilation. First baby should be ready to deliver soon."

Oh stars.

Here we go.

It was so damn painful that it felt like something is drilling its way from inside my stomach to outside.

Everything in the room kicks into motion. More people enter - like we weren't already running out of oxygen - and I brace myself as another soul-splitting contraction rises up. This one hits like a meteor.

"Zephyra," Dr. Rowan says in her calm, boss-of-the-universe tone, "on the next contraction, I want you to push."

I don't even answer. I just nod like I'm in a trance. My legs feel like lava. My brain is soup. But somehow, I summon the strength of a thousand screaming warrior moms and I push.

And again.

And again.

And then -

I hear it.

A cry.

A tiny, high-pitched, angry cry that sounds like someone who was just rudely evicted from a very warm apartment.

"He's out," says one of the nurses, and Dr. Rowan nods. "Healthy male. Good tone. Cord clamped."

The world suddenly becomes hazy. Not from pain - but from this unbelievable surge of emotion that I swear reaches up through my throat and makes my eyes leak for the first time today.

I cry. A little. Okay, maybe a lot.

They clean him up quickly - professionally, carefully - and bring him over to me. And when I see him...

Oh stars, he's perfect.

Small. Swaddled. Eyes barely open and already frowning at the world like it personally offended him.

Is this my dad or one of the ancestors took the charge first?

With other ancestors present, dad won't dare to be their elder brother right?

"Hey," I whisper, voice cracked and wobbly. "You're real. You're here."

He doesn't answer, obviously. He's a literal newborn. But he lets out a soft hiccup and kicks one tiny foot from his wrap like, What took so long, woman?

Dr. Rowan leans in gently. "The next baby may take a while. Your body needs to reset before contractions begin again. For now, we'll clean you up, get you some food, and move you to a side room so you can rest between deliveries."

"Aren't all of them coming out right now one after the other?" I asked with hints of confusion and doubt.

"No. You case is a little special and the time between the babies may differ from hours to days which is actually a good thing for you and the babies. So have some good rest first and prepare yourself for the next round."

I blink at her. Days?

Days?!

Eight babies and they're not even showing up to the party at the same time?

"Okay," I mumble, dazed. "But tell them to at least bring snacks when they do arrive."

Dr. Rowan gives a faint smile - her version of a parental pat on the head - before stepping back to give instructions to her team. Nurses move around me like gentle wind: cleaning, adjusting, fluffing pillows, replacing soaked sheets, tucking me into something soft and warm that doesn't feel like a battlefield.

I don't even fight it. I just let them work while I stare blankly at the ceiling and try to process the fact that a human just came out of me. And there are seven more queued up like they're waiting for a theme park ride.

My baby - the tiny warrior who kicked me awake at 3 a.m. for four months straight - is now somewhere outside this room, being shown to Grrrgal and the family like the crown jewel of a very messy heist. I wonder what they're saying out there. Probably crying. Or fainting. Or arguing over whose nose he got.

Dr. Rowan returns one last time to say, "We're transferring you to a quieter room. The family may come in briefly. We'll call when the next phase starts."

The stretcher glides gently, and suddenly I'm wheeled into a side chamber - smaller, dimmer, quieter. The silence feels like a blanket, and my body sinks into it with the weight of a collapsing star.

And then the door creaks open again.

In they come.

Grrrgal steps in first, holding our son like he's made of moonlight and secrets. Behind him, I catch a glimpse of Mom, Dad, Kaiya, Cyrus, Liana, Via, Oreo and Grrrgal's uncle – aunt.

Everyone's eyes go wide when they see me - sweaty, swollen, hair wild, eyes bloodshot - and I'm like, "Yes, this is what maternal glory looks like. Drink it in."

But their attention quickly shifts to the bundle Grrrgal is carrying. He walks over to my bedside and places the baby gently in my arms again. My heart does that strange thing where it feels both full and cracked at the same time.

They all wait. Quiet. Anticipating.

"Hmm, what is it grrrgal, mom?"

"Alright the baby's name will be –" Just as grrrgal started with an affirmed tone, he was knocked on head by both mom and dad and then said that I would be naming the baby.

Although grrrgal showed his extreme doubt the naming matter, I still ignored and felt happy because I want all my eight donuts are named in series.

It would be beautiful.

"Since it's a boy, the middle name would be Virelle and the last name would be Valen. As for the first name –"

~*~*~*~*~*~ 

Hello Sweeties,

Next chapter is here. Enjoy!

What do you think about the chapter? Boring?

Zephyra is finally in her labor. Are you excited?

Finally, the first baby is born and it's a boy. Yahoo!

What will Zephy name her first son?

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Lots of Love

Lady Prim