What I want you to know about having triplets

What I Want You to Know is a series of reader submissions. It is an attempt to allow people to tell their personal stories, in the hopes of bringing greater compassion to the unique issues each of us face. If you would like to submit a story to this series, click here. Today’s guest posts is by Krista Bordelon.



I want people to know that yes, I have my hands full...and I love it that way.

It is impossible for me to go anywhere with my three children without getting judgemental stares, jaws dropping to the floor, or mean snorts. I will never understand why. I only have three children, but by the looks on people's faces you would think I have twenty trailing behind me. Yes, they are close together, Irish triplets I guess some would call them. Whenever I hear the comment, "Wow, you sure do have your hands full" I just want to scream, or cry, depending on how many times I've already heard it. It doesn't matter if my children are being little angels or having one of "those" days I will hear it the same amount of times no matter what. My simple reply of, "Yes, they sure are. They are full of love and joy" just doesn't seem to do it for me any more. What I really want to tell them is how hurtful it is to be treated like a burden to society, or to be told that I need a hobby, or to have my children feel like they are unwanted by people who don't even know us. What I want to tell them is that when they are out of ear shot my 4-year-old will inevitably ask me, "Mommy, why do they think you have too many kids?" What I really want to do is pull every single person aside and tell them how my arms instead could have been empty. How I'm happy to have my hands "full" as they call it. How I'm bursting with joy each time I have my children with me.



I want to tell each and every one of them my story. I want them to know that when I was in highschool I was told I would never have kids. After only 2 months of marriage to find out I was pregnant was the greatest moment of my life. Having a tremendously difficuly pregnancy was worth every single minute for me, and although our first son was diagnosed with autism (something we actually knew of from the first days of his life because of his behaviors) I would not change one single aspect of him. We had a miscarriage shortly after he was born and I had convinced myself that he would be my only miracle. The day my daughter was born and made him a brother, and made me a mom to two precious babies was no less miraculous than the day my son was born.

Shortly after my daughter was born I began having severe pains and tests showed I had a prolapsed uterus. My doctor said I may be able to still carry another child, but with my history of difficult pregnancies with my other two there were no guarantees. Of course I convinced myself that my body was too damaged to carry another child, that if I had another child surely my body would not allow that baby to survive, so we opted for a hysterectomy at the very young age of 26. I was put on the strongest form of birth control while we made the "final" decision. The day before I called my doctor to schedule the surgery I discovered my most recent miracle. I was pregnant despite all the precautions, I was pregnant with another precious life.

After weeks of terrible bleeding and threats of miscarrying this precious miracle we learned that the placenta had grown into my uterus. The talk of having to do a hysterectomy at delivery didn't scare me as it would have since I had prepared myself for one anyway. At least this time I would get a baby out of the deal too. After many, many ultrasounds confirming it I went into my 20 week ultrasound only wanting to find out the sex of my baby, but walked out with the news of another miracle. The placenta previa had disappeared and there would be no need for a hysterectomy at all. My baby boy was born big and healthy and thriving and my uterus was left perfectly in tact.

So, yes, it looks like I have my hands full, but they could have been empty. In fact, they are emptier than they should be. My hands should be filled with two more babies than the ones I have with me. The second miscarriage I had when baby #3 was only a few months old. In fact, when I found out I was pregnant the fears of what others would say and think kept me from enjoying what little time it was that I would actually have with that baby. I dreaded every single day what I would tell people. I dreaded every single say what they would say to me, the looks that I would get, the horrible, ruthless, mean things. I miscarried that baby and as I bled I cried over the loss of life, but I cried more over the loss of time. I cried because all of these people who don't know me and who don't know my family have caused such scarring on my heart and such fear in my spirit that the joy I should have had during the precious little time I actually had with what should be my fifth child was robbed of me.

I wish for once when I go out with my kids, that more than the occasional person would treat them like a blessing. I wish that for once we would get smiles instead of sneers and encouragement instead of judgement. I wish that if the opportunity comes again for me to say, "I'm pregnant" that people will be happy and that I will not have to hear about my lack of hobbies, or asked if I know what "causes that", or get rejected for my decision to add to the love that is in our family. I wish for once people would see my family the way that I do...as just right.

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