When I found out I was pregnant, I cried happy tears. My husband Mateo spun me around the living room—we were over the moon. We’d been trying for so long. One baby, maybe twins if we were lucky, felt like the dream.

But by week 16, something felt off. My belly was huge—strangers kept asking if I was “due any day.” One woman even joked, “Are there five in there?” I laughed, but deep down, I was worried. This wasn’t like any pregnancy I’d heard of.

By week 20, I could barely make it to the kitchen without losing my breath. My back constantly ached, and I could actually see my belly move. Mateo was deep in Google searches; I was avoiding mirrors.

Then came the anatomy scan. The tech froze mid-ultrasound and quickly left the room. Mateo turned pale. The doctor walked in, glanced at the screen, then at me.

“How many do you think are in there?” he asked gently.

“Twins?” I guessed, my voice shaking.

He gave a nervous laugh. “Let’s just say… this is going to be one unforgettable delivery.”

Now people online are speculating—quads, sextuplets, even eight. Someone snapped a photo of me in the waiting room, and it’s gone viral.

And the truth?
Even I don’t know how many are in there. Not yet. But it’s more than I ever imagined.