Last week, I had a nuchal translucency scan (results were fine) and met with my ob/gyn for the first time since she diagnosed some uterine fibroids almost a year ago.

Uterine fibroids, it turns out, grow like weeds when given a steady diet of pregnancy hormones. My four (I call the really big ones Nick and Nora) are all getting close to having doubled in size; the largest-and-in-chargest (Nora) was almost exactly the size of the fetus a week ago.

“Of course, the idea is for the baby to outpace the fibroid eventually,” deadpanned my excellent doctor, who’d been delivering babies all night and was punchy enough to make Graham laugh out loud. (Something about an exploding fibroid, which IS NOT FUNNY OR EVEN A REAL THING, YOU JERKS.)

All of the fibroids together, plus  the kid, are why I’ve been a little more uncomfortable a little earlier than I should. I knew all that extra peanut butter was going somewhere (weight gain to date: 4ish pounds). To give you some idea of where we stood last week:

Age of fetus based on fetus size: 14 weeks and a day or two

Hypothetical age of fetus based on uterus size and position: 22 weeks

Somewhat early maternity shopping: Totally freaking justified

The (very) good news is that Nick, Nora, and their gang of fibrous thugs pose no real threat to the baby. They divert some blood flow, but not a lot; as of the 14-week mark, the kid is absolutely fine, growing apace, and appreciative of naptime (the ultrasound tech had to bounce my belly to get the NT scans). There’s no reason yet to expect that my body won’t accommodate whatever the baby needs.

The less good news is that this means extra discomfort for me now and double-extra discomfort later. Also, I suspect I will get the “OMG, you’re so big for [x weeks/months]! Is it twins?!” question at least once or twice, and I will have to say no. Or, depending on my hormone level, I will have to say, “Even better! It’s one baby and its four imaginary friends.”

All this means, effectively, is more ultrasounds. They won’t be able to measure growth by manhandling my belly, so…scans it is, to monitor the status of everyone and everything in there.

There’s no taking them out, by the way, not now and not until well after birth (when they’ll shrink back down, anyway). My heart’s sending 40% of all blood flow straight to my uterus, or it will be by April, so any attempt to surgically remove anything from that area is apparently a horrible, no good, very bad idea.

Well, except for the baby. The “worst-case” scenario is that one of these buggery fibroids grows to block the exit, at which point we schedule a c-section without any further ado. And although it’s (really, really) not my first choice, a c-section still results in both of us leaving the hospital with our kid, so…you know. We’ll do what needs doing, as long as it’s clear that it needs doing.

Additional:

Going through the McDonald’s drive-thru the other night (pregnancy has only exacerbated my McFlurry problem), I ordered a cheeseburger with only ketchup.

“Cheeseburger, only pickles,” said the cashier.

“No,” I said, “only ketchup.”

“Only ketchup…and pickles?”

“No, no pickles. Just ketchup.”

“Okay. Only ketchup.” I swear he sounded disappointed.

What the hell kind of stereotype am I living in?

Note: I still hate pickles as much as I have always hated pickles. I haven’t had any weird cravings or particular aversions yet, other than my craving for Food Prepared By Anyone But Me and my aversion to making dinner.

Fifteen weeks tomorrow, and hey! not just bloated! Good to know.