This animation was commissioned by Kassaz, who wrote the following short story about it, part of this anthology:
https://www.fimfiction.net/story/568567/4/sweaty-short-stories-with-pregnant-pony-workouts/fancy-bouquet

Fancy Bouquet

Fleur-de-lis stretched her long legs under the covers of her bed without opening her eyes. She huffed, eyes still closed, at the prospect of leaving the warmth coating her on all sides: her husband Fancy Pants snuggled her from behind, having a very nice dream about her from what she could feel; the blankets themselves were thick and many; and she had the large, personal heater of her gravid womb snug between her legs and trying its best to lull her back to sleep. She decided to snuggle further under the covers and return to her dreams.

She didn’t know how long she’d slept, but it wasn’t long enough. She was awoken by an all too familiar feeling as of late: A little hoof was jamming itself into her ribcage. Fleur, fairly certain she’d been dreaming about the little pony attached to that little hoof, lifted her head with thinly open eyes and a grumpy frown on her face for just a moment as she looked at the lump underneath the bedsheets. She loved her foal, but she wanted to move past the part where all of her inner nooks and crannies could get hit in ways she’d never imagined or felt beforehoof. She felt her stomach growling next, the vibration nearly permeating her otherwise still form, and then she felt that hoof make its way towards her ribs again. She lightly kicked off the cover with her left forehoof, and tried to stick it between her poor ribs and the little pony inside her; when that didn’t work as well as she liked, her horn lit and magic—carefully—passed through her body to shift—gently—the little rear end inside aside and away from her forebody. Magic then lifted the blanket from her entirely. “Well, well, now I’m awake.”

Fleur yawned while slowly propping up her forebody with her foreleg against the mattress. She wasn’t quite sitting upright even with that leg fully extended, and stayed like that for a moment before bending her leg a little then to push herself the rest of the way. She lightly flexed her other foreleg while that which had been stretching curled to rub sleep from her eyes. Fleur preferred to sleep with her hindhooves dangling off the edge of the bed, an old habit from her younger, poorer years where she had no choice; several options surrounded her for getting out of bed without a huff—a bar on wheels could be moved towards her by her magic, on which she could rest her hooves and then push away from the bed with the same—but she too liked the huff, and rolled her eyes at the device. She leaned back—she always had Fancy to fall on if she needed him—and felt her lower muscles work together to swing her closer to the edge. She only scooted across the bed twice before gravity slowly—and then quickly—set her on all four hooves. She yawned again. “Oh, what to do, what to do.” She stepped forwards, leaving her rear half in place to stretch her hindlegs. “Maybe stretching would be good.” Her stomach chose to make a most uncouth noise, after which she felt her foal give an opinion—or stretching out as she was. “Yes, yes, breakfast first, then exercise.”

Her magic touched the cast iron pan; the butter, eggs, and cheese sitting on the counter; the box and then its match; the stovetop’s dial; and the cabinets with containers of spinach and anything else she wanted. All of this moved around her while she walked to the front of the stove, and was ready before she reached it. She melted butter first; cracked eggs, mixing them in the air with her magic serving a purpose akin to a bowl; and minutes later she had an omelette oozing with cheese and leafy greens. Flame dead and most everything put away, she levitated it and a bottle of hot sauce to the table and ate standing.

-

Fleur’s magic chose a music disc from the shelf on the wall, removed it from the case, and gently set it in the music player. She preferred to use her mouth to set the needle on the disc, and nudged the horn her way by muzzle. That done, she faced away from it and towards the window before charging the device with a spell. Gentle, slow piano music filled the room while she started with stretches. She spread her hindlegs further apart, waited for her wobbling to cease, and gently walked forwards with only her forelegs. She slowly lowered herself to the floor—feeling first her belly grazing it, and shoving it backwards bit-by-bit magically—and she sighed, nearly moaned, at reaching her lowest point with her legs nearly flat against the floor. She closed her eyes and let her muscles strain.

“Practicing for our next foal, dearest?” It was said seriously, without a drop of sarcasm. Fancy was fancy like that, even with her at times. Had she not been burdened so, she would’ve quickly raised herself, but she was unable and they knew this. She rolled her eyes with them still closed.

“You’re terrible to me, Fancy, just terrible.” She also spoke seriously. “I want a divorce.”

There was silence between them, sans the music. She swung her rear back-and-forth to get the last bit of stretching done. She laughed first, sputtering to her displeasure, and he followed her immediately.

He walked by and, when she opened her eyes and turned her head to look at him, she noticed he was already fully dressed in his namesake suit. “Oh, you’re leaving me so soon, my dearest?”

“I’m afraid so, sweetest.” He leaned down to nuzzle noses with her and they both smiled, but she wore her pout again. “It’s just some quick business is all, I should be back in time for breakfast.”

She wasn’t going to mention she’d already eaten. “Oh, always leaving me at home these days.” Her eyes were closed again, and she started to rise slowly while she spoke. “Admit it, dearest, you want to make me your broodmare, and keep even the sight of me to yourself.” She started shaking the soreness from her hindlegs, one followed by the other. Afterwards, she had the side of her head pointing away, keeping him in her peripheral vision, and locked eyes with him like that pouting again. “Well?”

Fancy rested his neck on her withers, making her purr. “I admit it, darling, I’d move us away just so I could have you all to myself, if only you’d let me.”

“A home in the countryside?” She was unable to keep in her voice even mock dissatisfaction by now.

He spoke with his head still on her. “In the countryside.” He nuzzled the back of her head when he lifted his. “Ah, but some other day, business calls. Have a wonderful morning, ladies.” After that she watched him leave.

Fleur decided to swap the music disc for her next exercise. Fancy had his hopes set on a lanky little filly to spoil; she was hoping for a colt just like him, personally; not knowing was all of the fun. This music disc held a song using some instrument she didn’t recognize, but she liked its fast beat, perfect for trotting in place. She wiggled her neck to drape her mane behind her head and then wiggled each leg one after the other. Fleur took a deep breath and started lifting her forelegs and hindlegs, one on each side, before practically hopping to the other pair. She sped up until she nearly felt that she were at her old running speed, but allowed the music to dictate her tempo. Now she was taking shorter, shallow breaths at each apogee. She had a wonderful view of Canterlot through her window, yet closed her eyes and imagined that she were running through some field. She imagined the wind blowing against her, the vegetation whipping her as she passed it by, and then her imaginary forehoof tripped on a rock.

Her balance was thrown off, just a little, and she opened her eyes to watch her daydream melting before she could notice it as the obvious. She kept her tempo, looking back to see her lovely maternal cradle swinging back-and-forth inbetween her legs, and she could guess what exactly had thrown off her balance ever so slightly. She compensated by leaning slightly to the other side and looked ahead again. This time, her daydream came to her with open eyes: She was performing at an acrobatics show—she ignored her mane getting all puffy and once again in her face in favour of her memory’s tied mane and tail—running and jumping over barriers; each time she imagined herself overcoming one, she bounced herself a little higher in the air, just a bit.

She looked back again when a familiar feeling returned to her. She kept her pace and waited before seeing it again, a little wobble in her middle that hadn’t come from her legs, but one inside. That was the last distraction during her routine. She looked forward, imagined herself running with a little colt excitedly doing his best to keep up with her in a large field by a small house, and smiled.

-

Fancy had not returned before she got tired and quit. Soft piano music filled the room again while she relaxed on her side on the couch; she had worked up a proper froth, and the open window let in a delightful breeze that cooled her. Her magic flipped the page of a fashion magazine full of delightful outfits she had no chance of wearing with another pony in her belly. She turned the page, with some clothing for younger mares. “Oooh, I can see you begging your father for some of these if you’re the filly he wants.” She flipped through the pages again—there was some reason she had been looking at this magazine in particular, but she now couldn’t recall. She nearly tossed the magazine onto the coffee table and rolled onto her back for a nap when she found the reason why.

A two-page spread showed several mares modelling clothing that would fit her. “Oooh, now that would look nice on both of us right now.” Some of it was absolutely scandalous on an expecting dam, she loved it. She propped her head up with her left pastern and imagined what she would look like in the two-piece outfit that would frame her pregnancy with light pink on her front half and sky blue set on her rear, but hardly cover it. She then started to imagine Fancy Pants’ reaction, with all of his fancy clothing already set aside for the night; she always liked wearing the pants in their relationship. “I should swing by there sometime this week.”

Before all of that, however, it would be just horrible, just ghastly that he had left her alone for so long. She should practice her voice for when he returned.