Life around Donatello's home fell into a predictable routine, which felt rather like the calm before an inevitable storm. Don needed to get to the bathroom once or twice an hour. He usually stopped for a snack when he was up and about. The frequency decreased only slightly during the night time. Poor Don hardly slept at all anymore. Michelangelo often had to help him get up and down and sometimes back and forth. Don had entirely given up on working out. His body simply couldn't handle it anymore.
Donatello did most of the cooking, under Michelangelo's supervision. He needed to learn, after all. Plus, Don was practically immobile at this point, so cooking was the most exercise he was getting. April and Casey came by to keep them company when they weren't at work. Don was forbidden from cleaning, as all the bending over inevitably led to back problems.
Michelangelo realized that it had been longer than usual since he had last heard from Don, so he went to go check on him. He hoped that his brother was getting some much-needed rest. Unfortunately, Michelangelo found that Don was awake and lying on his side in bed. When he tried to move a little to greet Mikey, Don cried out in pain.
"What's wrong?!" Mikey cried as he flew to his brother's side. "Are you in labor?" That would explain why Don hadn't come into the living room all morning.
"No, I'm not in labor!" Don snapped. He really hated having to answer that question all the time. It felt like he was constantly letting people down, himself most of all. Don squeezed his eyes shut. "I don't think I can move, Mikey. Like, for reals." With that, Don buried his face in the pillow and let out the most pathetic whimpering sob that Michelangelo had ever heard.
"What? Is your back out again?" Mikey cringed, doing his best to sound nurturing.
"No, it's worse than that," Donatello moaned into the pillow. "It feels like my spine has been slowly getting ground into dust this whole pregnancy, and now I'm just so big. These kids are so heavy and all their weight presses down on this one spot and… and I don't think it can handle any more. To put it in engineering terms, I'm structurally unsound."
Don sniffed and Mikey knew that he must be crying. The engineering thing was obviously an awkward attempt at a joke, meant to throw him off. "Clearly your spine hasn't been ground into dust," Mikey reasoned. "There's got to be something we can try. Maybe some counterpressure would help?" Michelangelo put his hands on the middle part of Don's shell. "Where does it hurt most? Here?"
"I suppose," Don muttered. He didn't know if putting more pressure on his pinched spine was a good idea, but at this point, he was willing to try anything for a moment or two of relief. Don always did believe in the Hail Mary.
Michelangelo took that as consent and pushed firmly on Don's shell. Don hissed and Michelangelo immediately backed off. "Did I hurt you?!" Mikey blurted.
Don hesitated. "I… I dunno. Try again?"
"Okaaay." Mikey pressed again and moved his hands a little. The scutes of Don's shell rippled, which freaked Mikey out a bit. They weren't supposed to do that.
Don tensed, then let out a long breath. "I think... that feels good?" He waited a minute while Mikey continued to work. "Yeah, that definitely feels good," he sighed.
"Let's get you sitting up, then," Michelangelo suggested. "I can do a better job that way."
"Uh, sitting up? Not so sure about that," Don groaned.
"I think you're being a bit melodramatic, but if it's that bad, I can get April to help."
April had been hovering nearby and poked her head in. "Did I hear my name?" she asked.
"Come here and help old Donnie-boy sit up so that I can rub his back," Michelangelo ordered.
"I'm capable of sitting up," Don grumbled.
"Weren't you just whining about it though?" Mikey pointed out.
"Whining?" Don griped.
"Yeah dude, you were whining," Mikey confirmed.
"He's entitled at this stage," April said, lightheartedly. She grabbed a chair and pulled it to the edge of the bed, then sat down on it. "Come here, you," she said to Don.
Don scooched over to the edge and pulled himself into a sitting position, swinging his feet over the side of the bed so that he could sit up more easily. April guided his head onto her shoulder, and Mikey got back to pushing. After a few minutes, he got an idea and grabbed Don's bo staff from the corner. Don opened one eye. "Poor thing's out of use," he bemoaned.
"Not for long," Michelangelo replied. He then rolled the bo-staff up and down Don's shell, pushing hard, like he was using a rolling pin. On the first pass, he heard a loud pop and froze up. "Oh no! Did your vertebrae snap?"
"Oh wow, I think you just popped something into place." Don sighed. "Man, that felt nice. Do it again, Mikey."
Michelangelo rolled the bo up and down Don's back for a while, eliciting little grunts and groans of pleasure from his brother. April could feel Don growing more and more slack as he relaxed for the first time in weeks. She decided she could do more than just sit there supporting his upper body, so she pulled back a little and began to massage his shoulders.
Don moaned in a manner that he would have considered embarrassing if he had the energy to care. "Thank you. Thaaannnk you. That spot has been bothering me for...for forever," he breathed.
"No problem, kiddo." April smiled, giving Mikey a wink. The two continued working until Don began to feel like a rag doll flopping over April's shoulder. She would've thought he was asleep if not for the pleased noises he was continuing to make.
"You getting tired, Don?" April asked.
"Hmmm, always," he softly responded.
"How bout a little nap, then?" April suggested.
Don yawned but made no attempt to move. That was all the reply April needed.
Both April and Michelangelo helped Don maneuver his utterly worn out and achingly pregnant body into the middle of the bed, and covered him up. April left him with a kiss on the cheek, but Mikey clicked on the heat lamp and rubbed Don's shell and sides until his brother was snoring like a freight train.
Michelangelo suspected that Donatello's newfound snoring problem was a big part of the reason that Don wasn't getting quality rest, but he simply didn't have the heart to tell his poor brother this. There was no way the babies could sleep through that racket. Even Mikey couldn't, and Mikey was a notoriously deep sleeper. Today, the sound was comforting, since Don really needed some true rest.
After a solid six hours, Mikey dared to look in on his brother to make sure he was okay. Don never slept for more than a couple of hours at a time anymore. He was always in need of a snack or a bathroom visit, or his back hurt, or legs cramped, or someone kicked him awake. Fortunately, he was just very deeply asleep for once, so much so that not even the activity of the babies could wake him. Don had a hand over his belly, as usual, and Mikey could see the undulating movement of his nieces or nephews beneath Don's spread out fingers.
Satisfied that his bro was okay, Mikey closed the door to dull the sound of Don's snores. They went on for several more uninterrupted hours, thank goodness.