When I first discovered I was pregnant, tears of joy streamed down my face. Mateo, my husband, scooped me up and twirled me around the living room like something out of a romantic comedy. We had been trying for some time, hoping for one baby—or maybe two if luck was on our side.
But by about week 16, things started to feel unusual. My belly was enormous. Strangers at the grocery store kept asking if I was due any day now, and one woman even bluntly asked, “Are there four or five in there?” I laughed it off, but inside, I was worried. I didn’t feel like a typical pregnant woman. By week 20, even moving from the couch to the kitchen left me breathless. My back ached nonstop, and I could literally see my belly ripple beneath my skin. Mateo became obsessed with online research, while I stopped looking in the mirror altogether.
During our anatomy scan, the ultrasound technician paused, staring at the screen. “Wait… I need to get the doctor,” she said, leaving the machine on my belly. Mateo and I exchanged worried glances.
The doctor came in, studied the screen, then looked at me. “How many do you think are in there?” he asked gently.
I hesitated. “Twins?” I guessed, already sensing it wasn’t right.
He gave a nervous laugh, rubbed his neck, and said, “Let’s just say this is going to be a very big delivery.”
Our story blew up online after someone posted a photo of me in the waiting room. People started guessing—quadruplets, sextuplets, even eight babies.
But here’s the thing… I never really got a definite answer.
Weeks went by, and my bump kept growing as if it had a mind of its own. I saw three doctors, had six ultrasounds, and countless attempts to understand what was happening. Every scan showed just one baby—an incredibly large one. Some doctors suggested it was a misreading or extra fluid. Others worried it could be a growth disorder. One even thought I might be further along than I believed, but my dates were accurate.
Meanwhile, strangers online tore apart every picture, turning my pregnancy into a bizarre internet spectacle. Comments ranged from kind to downright crazy. One person joked, “She’s carrying a football team.” Another insisted, “It’s definitely eight babies, she just can’t say.”
All the attention only made me more anxious. Some nights, I cried, wondering what was really going on inside me. Why was I so big? Why couldn’t anyone give me a clear answer?
Then, on February 18th, everything came to a head.
I woke up feeling a heavy, unfamiliar pressure in my pelvis. We called the hospital, and they told us to come right away. I wasn’t scared anymore—I just wanted clarity.
A few hours later, I was prepped for a C-section. The baby was so large, the doctors didn’t want to risk waiting any longer. Mateo held my hand as they wheeled me in, and I’ll never forget when they lifted him up.
“One baby,” the doctor said with a smile. “But what a baby.”
Our son was born weighing 9 pounds, 8 ounces, and measured 22 and a half inches long. No twins. No surprise siblings. Just one big, healthy boy.
The nurses joked he skipped the newborn phase. He was alert, strong, and already trying to lift his head. One pediatrician laughed, saying, “He looks ready for kindergarten.”
Just like that, the mystery was solved. No multiples, no medical oddity—just one huge baby who confused the internet and every doctor we met.
In the end, it was a reminder that every pregnancy is unique. The internet can speculate, doctors can guess, but your body will do what it does. All that worry about “how many” boiled down to a simple truth.
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