Nobody had prepared me for what carrying triplets would do to my body. The doctors used clinical phrases like “pelvic floor complications” and “extended postpartum recovery.” I had a much simpler way of describing it: sometimes, especially when I sneezed, laughed too hard, or lifted something heavy, my body didn’t cooperate the way it used to.
It was embarrassing, but it wasn’t something I had chosen. I was recovering from carrying and delivering three babies.
On difficult days, I wore discreet protective underwear. I kept the package hidden underneath folded towels in our upstairs bathroom. Only my husband, Richard, knew it was there. GetMarriage Tips
At first, Richard occasionally teased me about it. I laughed along because I told myself that was simply how we communicated. If I laughed too, maybe it meant we were still on the same team.
But over time, his jokes became sharper.
Especially when other people were around.
One morning, after he made another comment during brunch, I finally asked him to stop.
“You worry too much, Bel,” he said.
“I’m not worried. I just don’t enjoy being the joke.”
