Every time someone hears I am a mother of triplets, a series of questions start popping up. So instead of posting something about writing, today I have decided to share my story. Please bare with me as I pour my heart out to you on this beautiful Monday morning.
Like so many little girls growing up, I dreamed of one day getting married and having kids. What I did not dream about, or even considered, was that it may never happen. I had my whole life planned out, step-by-step. It was going to be easy, I foolishly thought. Why? I had been brainwashed.
As I grew up, everyone kept telling me, “You’re pretty. You’ll have no problems finding a great guy in college. Don’t worry. Don’t rush it.” My idealistic heart believed them, so I did not. Since the age of ten, men had flirted with me. Two men went as far as declaring their undying love and proposed. I was only seventeen at the time. Needless to say, my self-confidence was overly inflated by the time I graduated high school.
With little dating experience under my belt, I entered college with bright dreams and fresh ideas. The first year was a real eye opener. I dated only one man, and that nightmare lasted two weeks. Halfway through my second year, I began to worry. My friends and family laughed at me. They simply did not understand. I had these detailed plans of how my life was supposed to be.
Some dreamed of being a doctor, or a lawyer. I dreamed of being a Kindergarten teacher, with a family of my own. I was beginning to believe that my future was going to turn out differently than what I had dreamed. Remaining hopeful, I continued with my studies. A week after my twentieth birthday, I met the man I would share my life with. Part one of my childhood dreams, had come true.
After being married for five years, we decided it was time to make part two a reality. This led me to another obstacle. Infertility. By the end of three years, several laparoscopies and a couple of D&C’s, we were still unable to conceive. Our next step was to undergo a religious regiment of infertility treatments, which ended up being the same. Unsuccessful. I cannot explain how distressing it was, or how heartbroken I was. I sincerely believed I would never experience the joy of carrying a child in my womb, or the depth of happiness a mother feels when she holds her baby for the first time.
Fate placed another obstacle in my path. Depression had taken over my life. My husband did his best to console me. He assured me his love would not lessen any if we did not have any children, for that was not the reason he had married me. I was touched by his words. However, there were still my childhood dreams of a loving family that would not release its grip on my soul. This placed a strain on our relationship. My schoolwork suffered. My work suffered. I suffered.
Several sessions with a counselor, plus my supportive husband, gave me the courage to take the next step forward. I placed all my faith and strength in God, and went ahead with IVF. I was certain after two weeks the procedure had failed. I went to the hospital for a routine blood work. I met the other patients who had their procedure done at the same time, and told them mine had failed. I was that positive. A few hours later, I received a phone call at my mother’s house. It was my Doctor. “Here it comes,” I had said to myself. Once again, it was not what I had expected.
God had smiled on me. Our first sonogram had showed we were blessed. Three times. After thirty-three weeks, I gave birth to three healthy, beautiful babies, two boys and a girl. More than what I had dared to hope for.
My three miracle babies are now all grown up. I look at them and at times I could see them as they once were–my three little sausages.