Expecting Quadruplets: An Ordeal

EXPECTING QUADRUPLETS: AN ORDEAL

I'm Whitney, and I'd like to walk you through the last few weeks of my pregnancy with quadruplets, focusing on different aspects of my experience with each week I cover. My goal, if I have one, is to strongly discourage any inclination you may have towards carrying quadruplets. Don't make the same mistake I did. It is immensely unlikely to occur without the use of fertility-boosting drugs. So: do not use those drugs. Thinking about both my career and my body, the idea of pregnancy kind of freaked me out, though I very much wanted a large family. Thus, my poor decision to just go for as many babies at once as I could have, do the one pregnancy and be done with it. Multiple pregnancies would've been far less disruptive in all conceivable ways, I'm quite certain now. Let this record serve as a warning. We'll begin once I'm already absurdly pregnant...

*27 Weeks*

At 27 weeks pregnant I felt nearly immobile. I was still carrying oddly high, I thought, especially given the immense weight of my belly. It protruded more than a foot further than my usual abdomen, starting halfway up the middle of my breasts (pushing them to either side) and going all the way down to the middle of my pubic hair. It seemed to take up all the possible space and stick out as far as physically possible prior to its inevitable drop. Sitting, it looked like a beach ball reaching halfway to my knees. It was gigantic and terribly uncomfortable, making pretty much any movement a very unpleasant and deeply exhausting chore. I stayed in bed a lot.

My husband, Curt, absolutely loved all of this. He's always found pregnancy kinda sexy, but this feeling exploded into full-on fetishism as he experienced the extremities of my quadruplet gestation. He was put in charge of my skin care regimen and, at his insistence, "belly worship." Though I could hardly participate in sexual activity anymore, Curt was still thrilled just to be able to hold my massive bump with one hand and his dick with the other.

His cum was probably the product most frequently applied to my belly, honestly. It really did it for him for me to rub it into myself, so I obliged him for this one easy request. He rubbed plenty of other moisturizers into my belly's skin, too. All the usual butters, creams, oils, you name it. At the size I'd reached and knowing I wasn't done growing, though, it was very clearly a losing battle to try to protect my skin in any way. My skin was stretched taut and shiny, veins were thick and glaringly visible, bright red stretch marks covered the front of my bump and created a rough spiral pattern centered around my outie navel. Waist, hips, ass, upper arms, thighs, breasts, and even feet were all sporting stretch marks, too, though they were less glaring than the bump's.

All sounds super fun so far, right?

*28 Weeks*

At this point, I'd started sleeping in the downstairs guest room so that I would no longer have to climb stairs on a regular basis. They were just too much now. When laying on my back the bump shot up about 8" above the rest of me, the inexorable power of gravity barely touching its immense, immovable heft. It had also dropped by week 28, resting down several inches past my vagina and 6" down my thighs...and that's when laying down. I was already absurdly large, in other words.

With 4 (pretty big!) babies inside me and so very little extra room in my stretched-tight abdomen, their movements were able to contort my bump into a multitude of shapes. I'm only 5'2", so the belly had very few places to go but straight out, leading to very pronounced protrusion throughout; many forms were possible given these conditions.

Sometimes the bump sloped dramatically down from my chest, drooping a great deal and even coming to a point at the hanging bottom where a baby was resting. Sometimes the curve was much rounder and more gradual or graceful, the belly mostly globe-shaped with just a little round lip hanging down over my crotch. Sometimes the babies somehow seemed to arrange themselves in a line progressively further away from me; this created a torpedo shape, sticking out dramatically and drooping down toward its rounded front.

It's a lot of fun to get dressed when you're one shape, go out in public, feel the babies shifting painfully inside you, and suddenly find yourself in clothing that doesn't entirely cover your damaged flesh because of how radically your shape has changed in the last minute or so. A lot of fun...

*29 Weeks*

At a mere 29 weeks, one can safely give birth to quadruplets. God, I wish I had been so lucky as to have the ordeal end there. Anyway, my belly was heavier, sticking out further, and hanging lower. All the difficult things were just getting more difficult. On the other hand, it was also rounding out more and more, which was undeniably pleasing to the eye. So, there's a minuscule silver lining for you.

The babies were so large and in such a tight space at this point that they didn't have room to wind up for particularly hard and painful punches and kicks. So, it was nice that that ended. Their movements on the periphery of the bump were still pretty damned painful, though, as their limbs could shoot out and suddenly stretch me to a very unpleasant extent. These movements were visible at this point even through the tight tops that struggled to cover my absurdly-sized belly.

I had to go to the doctor's office on a weekly basis to monitor for the myriad complications common to quadruplet gestations. I avoided anything major, luckily, but I did have to break my bed rest (imposed the week before this) an unpleasant amount. On my public outings, "Are you okay?" became strangers' favorite question as they witnessed the body horror of starkly visible (and visibly painful, when they saw my face) baby movements. No more "When are you due?" probably because I was so big that I had pretty clearly missed the window for giving birth, and would be pregnant and rapidly expanding for the rest of my life.

With four babies in there, at least one was always awake and moving within me, and painfully. Literally always. Sleep was near impossible, even with exhaustion being constant and debilitating. All the other usual late pregnancy symptoms were very much amplified, too. The extra eating to nourish the babies was made a chore by the strict nutritional guidelines, not to mention the severe reflux and constipation that were constant results of my eating just about anything. The hemorrhoids and varicose veins both provided constant pain, and the veins were terribly unsightly as a nice little bonus. I had to constantly monitor my posture (comfort be damned), the positioning of my back a constant stressor as I struggled not to let my tremendous bump damage my spine permanently.

Having fun yet, ladies?

*30 Weeks*

The average quad gestation is 30 weeks. If only I'd been so lucky...

Standing, the bump hung down lower than my pussy and stuck out 18" further than my tits. Sitting and reclining slightly, it was at its roundest; the size and shape of a full beach ball, shiny with stretch marks and extraordinary tautness. My belly button still hadn't popped out fully, sticking out only about as much as a large pimple might.

Size, shape and texture aside, the thing was just plain HEAVY. I could barely move myself around the house, never mind out in public. In the house, I frequently utilized a walker that had a little seat to rest my crazily protruding belly on. Out in public, Curt usually pushed me around in a wheelchair, my bump just inches away from reaching my knees as I sat there. You get looks when you're in a wheelchair, much as you do just being pregnant. Once people looked into my wheelchair and saw my absurdly gravid condition, I got a great deal of very sympathetic, sometimes a little bit sad looks. I was, clearly even to strangers, simply too pregnant. It had reached the realm of disabling physical ailment.

When I did manage to move without assistance (a total of 20 minutes per day, maybe?), I knocked over anything and everything in my path. It wasn't just the bump's sticking out so very far, but the annoyingly quick growth that comes with quadruplets means I grew more rapidly than I could keep up with. The size of me was constantly surprising, constantly necessitating new centers of gravity and care of movement. I was scared the babies would come out all bruised from how frequently and with what force I thwacked myself into household objects every hour or so. So, so fucking unwieldy.

And I didn't fit anywhere anymore! The belly forced me to sit so far from the table that I could only just reach my plate with my utensils. Any sort of public event was absolutely out of the question, sitting-wise. Imagine my gigantic ass in a movie theater seat! Even as a mental image it was absurd. I couldn't drive, the wheel taking up too much of the space needed for bump accommodation. While I could currently just manage to sit in the passenger's seat, it was clearly a position that would be realistic for maybe another week. Then I'd protrude too far and...could maybe sit in the back with my legs up on the seat next to me? Could I even be buckled in that scenario? I didn't like to think about what was inevitably coming.

Also, when my in-laws came to visit, I sat between them on our couch and it collapsed. I broke the damn couch in front of my mother- and father-in-law. Fuck me, this humiliation.

*31 Weeks*

I'm pretty sure my bump would've reached my knees (and beyond?) at this point, but I couldn't close my legs and let it rest on them to find out. The weight and massiveness of the belly forced my legs open irrevocably, day and night. I could have safely delivered the week prior to this, and it'd be surprising if I went much further than 31 weeks with a quad pregnancy, according to the doctors. Anything but pessimism was hard to muster at this point, though, and I imagined I'd keep growing for another few years then have to deliver four husky toddlers.

The pregnancy hormones did all right by me earlier in the pregnancy when I could maneuver myself amply for sex, but were now driving me a little nuts with the horniness I couldn't really do much about. I could manage to hold the bump up enough with one arm that I could reach my pussy with the other hand, but doing so tired me out much more quickly than the awkward masturbation took to bring me to climax. About all I could do on my own was wedge a small vibrator between my legs and near my clit, which would get me off maybe 40% of the time.

I wasn't always by myself, luckily. Curt could help, and he was still way into my pregnant body, maybe continuously more so as I got more and more unwieldy, lost more and more bodily control. Those did seem to be angles that were as attractive to him as they were annoying to yours truly. So, he delighted in having to use all four of our arms to keep the belly up and out of the way for long enough that I could orgasm via his skilled cunnilingus. If he brought his cock right up to my face, I could muster the energy to blow him for a minute, but almost never to completion. He'd finish himself with his hand, always right onto my bare belly. I don't think I've ever seen him happier than when he had a giant pregnant belly to cum on. There was really no chance of penetrative sex between us at this time, if that wasn't clear.

Looking on one tiny bright side, I would almost certainly need a C-section to deliver the quads, so no strangers would be bearing witness to the increasingly uncontrolled thicket of my pubic hair. It was such a fucking mess down there by the end.

*32 Weeks*

Remember, in past entries, all the ways I described my size, weight, unwieldiness and inability to fit most places? Make all those significantly more extreme and you've got my situation at 32 weeks. I was filled with despair, nearing a month past when I could've reasonably expected to deliver. 32 weeks with quadruplets was, quite simply, unreasonable. And dispiriting.

Aaaand humiliating. For certain things, I did still have to go out in public on occasion. And almost no clothing fit me. The maternity specialty stores were even at a loss as to how to cover my gargantuan body, and custom clothes were just too expensive for us to afford. My largest tops reached to just above my protruding navel; I had to cover the rest of myself with a blanket in order not to show an inordinate amount of skin when out and about. The stares were incessant, my blanket-covered belly all the more intriguing to the public's eyes since they had to do a bit of work to estimate just how big I was. I left the house as rarely as I possibly could.

While at home, though, I could wear as little clothing as I felt like. This helped especially with temperature regulation, which was a nightmare with a body as engorged and heavy as mine was. I'd usually wear a bra, as my sore and drooping tits flopping around on their own was quite uncomfortable, especially given my nipples' sensitivity. Panties were a must, too, given the pregnant body's predilection for vaginal discharge (sorry if that's TMI; it is not one of the more beautiful aspects of gestation). So, I was usually just hanging out in my underwear at home, more often than not in close proximity to an air conditioner. Curt loved being able to see my ever-bared belly, of course. And I just wanted this fucking pregnancy to be over.

*33 Weeks*

Why. The. Fuck. Was. I. Still. Pregnant.

It should have been done a solid month ago, but no. Still growing in some realm far beyond "gravid." I'd started as a proud BBW (Big Beautiful Woman, in case you're unfamiliar), weighing in at 235 pounds when I got my positive pregnancy test. Now, I was a massive 363 pounds; I'd gained 128 goddamn pounds. I attempted to weigh just my precipitously hanging bump; it's probably not super accurate, but it seemed like the belly itself weighed about 75 pounds. Ridiculousness. At the most hugely round point of my belly, I measured an absurd 73 inches around.

My breasts, though, had only undergone a comparatively modest amount of growth. I'd been a 38D and was at this point a 38DD. I could be thankful for this one area of reasonable growth, I supposed. They rested on top of the bump, of course, as the bump took up absolutely all of my torso space.

My skin's stretchiness was mind-blowing by this point. It was intensely taut and shiny all over, and entirely covered by angry red stretch marks. The bump was rock hard, four overdue babies taking up every possible cubic inch they could find. Sometimes I'd search for an unoccupied softer spot on my belly, and I never managed to find one.

My feet are swollen to the point of precluding my wearing shoes. My ass and waist barely even fit in the largest maternity bottoms. I don't understand how my body got through all this without straight up exploding.

*Epilogue*

At 33 weeks and 2 days, I finally delivered the babies. Only 3% of quadruplet births are vaginal...so, yeah, of course I had to push them out. I wish they would've just cut me the fuck open and yanked them out for me. Luckily, the babies were only huge by quadruplet standards, weighing in at just under 5 pounds each rather than the average quadruplet weight of 3 pounds. So, it's not like I had to push out four 9 pounders or anything. Nonetheless, the delivery was far from pleasant. Babies now out of it, my belly still sagged intensely but now looked like a deflated beach ball rather than a fully inflated one. What a fantastic aesthetic improvement.

And I won't even get into the horrors of taking care of four infants. I wish to sleep for approximately seven years.