By the time I hit month six of my pregnancy, I couldn’t step foot in a store without people staring at my belly like I was going to give birth right there. Strangers would look at me with that half-smile and ask, “Any day now?” I’d laugh awkwardly and reply, “Still got a few months, actually.” But every time I said it, their faces would fall like I had just told them I was carrying an elephant instead of a baby.
I couldn’t help but feel like people thought I was doing something wrong—overeating, hiding twins, or lying about how far along I was. Even my aunt Lela, someone I loved dearly, pulled me aside at a family barbecue and whispered, “Sweetheart, are you sure it’s just one in there?”
Yes, Aunt Lela. I was sure. My ultrasounds had shown just one little baby, kicking away like he owned the place. My doctor had confirmed that I had extra fluid, but it wasn’t dangerous. I was just… big. Really big.
But then things started getting strange.
At my prenatal yoga class, a woman named Trina kept staring at my stomach. After class, she followed me to the parking lot and said, “You need to get checked again. I had a friend who looked like you, and—” She paused, then added, “Just… get another scan.”
I laughed it off at first, but that night, her words kept replaying in my head. I couldn’t sleep. So, the next morning, I called my OB to ask for a last-minute appointment. They fit me in two days later.
That visit did not go how I expected.
Dr. Mahmoud, my OB, started the usual scan, talking to me about heartburn and cravings. But then, he got quiet. Too quiet.
He squinted at the screen, moved the wand a little, and then sat back, looking concerned. “Hold on. I want to bring in a colleague just to double-check something.”
My heart sank. “Is everything okay?” I asked, trying to stay calm.
He smiled, but it was forced. “I just want to be thorough. Won’t be long.”
Ten minutes later, another doctor came in—a woman named Dr. Klara. They stared at the screen, murmuring to each other in a language I couldn’t understand.
Finally, Dr. Mahmoud turned to me and said, “This is a bit unusual. You’re still only carrying one baby, but there’s something else we need to look into. There’s a mass—probably benign—but it’s causing your uterus to stretch more than usual.”
A mass? I felt my throat tighten. “Like a tumor?”
“It could be a fibroid,” he said gently. “They’re pretty common. Often harmless. But the size of it, combined with the extra fluid, is making your belly look bigger than it should.”
I nodded, trying to stay composed, but inside, I was spinning.
After the appointment, I left the office clutching a printout and an appointment slip for a specialist. I sat in my car for what felt like forever, trying to breathe and stop myself from crying.
A few days later, the specialist confirmed it—one large fibroid, non-cancerous, but big enough to push my baby into an unusual position and cause my bump to balloon out like I was carrying triplets.
Suddenly, everything made sense. The tightness in my chest. The way I couldn’t catch my breath after climbing a flight of stairs. Even the occasional sharp pain I had written off as just normal pregnancy discomfort.
But there was more to it. The fibroid was also making it hard for them to properly monitor the baby. It was blocking some angles and affecting the blood flow to one side of the placenta. The doctors wanted to keep me under weekly observation.
From then on, my life became a blur of ultrasounds, check-ins, and stress tests. My belly continued to grow, and it felt like I was smuggling a beach ball. I stopped going to yoga and even started avoiding the grocery store, where the stares were the worst.
One evening, about seven weeks before my due date, I felt a sharp, throbbing cramp that wouldn’t go away. I tried drinking water, lying on my left side, even walking around the house. Nothing worked.
I ended up in the hospital that night. Turns out, I was going into early labor.
Everything became a blur—monitors beeping, nurses rushing around, my mom showing up with her shoes half-on. They managed to stop the labor that night, but they warned me: this baby might be coming sooner than expected.
For the next few weeks, I basically lived on the couch with a body pillow and a bag of frozen peas on my lower back.
And then, on a rainy Tuesday morning, it happened. He came.
Niko.
Five pounds, eleven ounces. A strong cry and a head full of black hair.
Because of the fibroid’s position, they had to perform a C-section, and recovery was tough. But the moment I held Niko in my arms, all the stares, the whispers, and the worry seemed to melt away. He was here. Safe and sound.
The fibroid? It shrank on its own a few months later. No surgery needed.
But you know what stayed with me? The feeling of being judged. How quickly people assume something’s wrong just because things look different. I wish more people would lead with kindness before curiosity.
So, if you ever see a pregnant woman with a huge belly, maybe just smile. Maybe don’t ask if she’s “about to pop.” She’s probably dealing with more than you know.
And if you’re that pregnant woman, feeling overwhelmed by the stares—you’re not alone. Trust your instincts, speak up if something feels off, and get checked again if you need to. You know your body better than anyone.
Thanks for reading. If this story resonated with you, please like and share—it might help someone else feel a little less alone.
Sophia Reynolds is a dedicated journalist and a key contributor to Storyoftheday24.com. With a passion for uncovering compelling stories, Sophia Reynolds delivers insightful, well-researched news across various categories. Known for breaking down complex topics into engaging and accessible content, Sophia Reynolds has built a reputation for accuracy and reliability. With years of experience in the media industry, Sophia Reynolds remains committed to providing readers with timely and trustworthy news, making them a respected voice in modern journalism.
