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“The phenomenon of Co-Induced or ‘Incidental’ twins – exclusively the offspring of Omega-Male and Alpha-Female couples – is one that any conscientious delivery nurse should be aware of and prepared to handle.
In short, the phenomenon occurs when both partners conceive at or around the same time, thus creating a situation in which both partners will be heavily pregnant by the time one is admitted into your delivery room. The phenomenon carries the name ‘Co-Induced’ as the stress of one partner’s labour is almost guaranteed to induce labour in the other. This outcome is seen in over 90% of co-pregnancies regardless of which partner was admitted first, rather than, as was first believed, exclusively affecting Alpha-Females whose partners had entered labour before them. The reason for this phenomenon’s restriction to only couples consisting of one Omega-Male and one Alpha-Female should be obvious, though it is not uncommon for mixes of other designations to suffer similar effects in close proximity to distressed family members.
It is imperative for the practicing nurse to remember that the labouring partners should not be separated unless circumstances become dire enough to require the intervention of emergency surgery. The additional stress of separation could result in harm to both mother and child (and in some extreme cases, hospital staff). Most modern hospitals are equipped with at least one dual-bed delivery room for exactly this reason; though relatively rare among the general population the mating of Alpha-Female and Omega-Male partners is not so uncommon as to render such facilities an impracticable strain on hospital finances.
Far more dangerous are situations in which only one partner is sufficiently close to delivery. The non-labouring partner in such cases would be in not-inconsiderable danger of miscarriage should the proper steps not be immediately taken by hospital staff."
Excerpted from ‘Dynamic in the Birthing Suite; An Introduction to Delivery-Room Nursing’ by Dr. Matthew Chamberlain.
It starts like this: Bob is pregnant. He’s never been so excited, so nervous, so every-emotion-all-at-once. He’s having a baby! With Natasha! Who… doesn’t seem to be sharing the same joy-nerves-excitement he is.
Natasha wakes up with her head in the toilet for the third day in a row. She hasn’t said anything to Bob yet. The first trimester is always the riskiest, and she doesn’t want to burden him. She knows he’s spotted something’s wrong though. She’s been… Moody, lately, more subdued, and she can tell Bob’s starting to get a little worried. If it gets any worse she’ll go get checked out. Aside from the nausea, she’s been fine. She shouldn’t have anything to worry about yet. She goes under the sink for their toilet cleaner – they’ll have to replace that soon too – and pauses. Sticking out of the bouquet of tampons they keep under their tiny sink, are the handful of leftover test sticks Bob hadn’t used. They may have gone overboard there, but they were just so excited. Parents. Them. It still floors her. A warning light flickers in the back of her mind. What if… she grabs one of the sticks.
“Bobby!” Natasha calls him from the bathroom. When he opens the door, she’s bent over the counter. There are two pregnancy tests laid out neatly beside their toothbrushes and Nat’s makeup bag. His breath catches in his chest.
“Come look at these!” her eyes sparkle, she reels him closer like the tide, inexorable, towards the two little plastic sticks. He reaches out, hardly believing what’s in front of him. He feels like maybe he should check his glasses. Or pinch himself. He brings one up to eye level. The plastic is hard and real against his fingers. Two little lines are clear in the results window.
“Bobby” Natasha’s voice is a tremulous whisper. Her eyes sparkle they meet his, tears threatening to spill over her blinding smile.
“You’re…?”
“I’m pregnant”
An impossible light suffuses between the two of them. Joy radiating in the small space, reverberating between them.
“Two?”
She’s laughing now, “Twins!”
It bubbles out of them. They are giggling and gripping each other and they are incandescently happy, collapsing onto the bathroom floor.
They’re both pregnant. Two babies. What the hell are they going to do?
It ends like this: his daughter is already yelling when Pete picks up the phone.
“Mama!” she never calls him Mama anymore, not since she was thirteen and suddenly too cool for anything her parents did.
“Mama, Bobby’s in labour! His water just broke! We’re driving to the hospital!” There are car horns blaring in the background. He can hear Bob groaning as contractions roll over him.
She’s driving. Pete can tell. His daughter is eight and a half months pregnant, as ready to pop as her mate, and still, Natasha is driving them both to the hospital. Her shouted instructions wash over him. He needs his car keys. He needs Ice.
His mate is in the kitchen, attempting to burn down his house with his son. Twin blonde heads turn to look at his clattering entrance. Natasha is still shouting. She’s on speaker. She’s still driving.
“We’re on our way” there’s no way to tell who said it. It hangs in the air, frozen, for a split second... Then they all spring into action. Burners turn off, pans get thrown half-full into the sink. Keys get tossed. Jake and Bradley are promptly sent back to Natasha and Bob’s assignment to assemble car seats, to pack up any extra items the new parents may need, and to be out from underfoot.
Tom holds Pete’s hand all the way to the hospital, the other one steady on the wheel.
They get there just in time to watch Natasha’s water break all over the hallway floor.
The hours after are filled with shouting and sweating and crying and, finally, pushing.
Daniel Kazansky-Mitchell is delivered into the world, red and screaming, a full hour and a half before his sister Sophie finally determines she’s ready to meet them. By which time her brother has been cleaned and weighed and deposited back into Natasha’s waiting arms. Bob finally relaxes from where he’s been griding the bones of Pete’s hand into a fine paste. The inside railings of both beds are lowered and the two beds are pushed together by judicious nurses, in time for Sophie – now also cleaned and swaddled in a soft blanket and cap – to be handed back to her mother. The couple curl into each other, sweaty, tired, and contented. They nose softly at each other while the babies delight in the appearance of their sibling.
The snap of camera shutters.
Bradley Bradshaw stands in the doorway, shaking dry a fresh polaroid. His mate shoves him out of the way, darting for his sister, careful not to jostle the precious cargo cradled in her and her mate’s arms. The light scent of joy rises in the room.
Daniel and Sophie patiently allow themselves to be picked up and cooed over, first by their grandparents, then their uncles, before fussing to be returned to their parents. Pete doesn’t think he’s seen two more perfect new-borns, except his own, of course. He can’t quite believe he’s a grandmother. His little family is all crowded into one room, now two members bigger. Their friends will be here soon, too, bringing noise and excitement, and more love than a younger Pete Mitchell would have known how to handle. Something tight in his chest, something that had been steadily winding tighter and tighter, through his whole life, finally relaxes. Tom loops an arm around his waist. Warmth and comfort and the sure scent of home. They’re all going to be all right. Everything’s going to be all right.