I’ve written a lot of posts that were never intended to be published. This was one of them.
Because I write as a form of therapy. As a positive release. As a way to educate. I try not to dwell on the past. When life gives me lemons, I try and make lemonade. Or at the very least lemon water.
But this post, this post is full of bitterness. Four and a half years of it. Directed at some of you.*
A part of me doesn’t want you to see this side of me. The part that isn’t always happy. But it’s the truth. Life sucks sometimes.
It’s time to write this post.
For you, for me, for Alexander.
THE KIDS ARE TRIPLETS
I want to post a definition of triplets. Put it in quotes and bold it. Maybe I’ll even write it in CAPS and in a bigger font. Just so that you get it’s full magnitude. But, I wouldn’t do that to you.
I wouldn’t want you to feel guilty.
I wouldn’t want you to think I’m bitter.
I wouldn’t want you to think that you couldn’t add.
But some of you* can’t add and sometimes I am bitter.
THE KIDS ARE NOT TWINS.
Again, I could post a definition of twins and put an exclamation point at the end but you’re smarter than that. You know that twins means two and I carried, birthed and fed with my own breast…
THREE BABIES. TRIPLETS.
I understand if you feel uncomfortable calling them Triplets. Even when Alexander was alive, I never called them that. Instead, I referred to them as The Kids as I still do. Or, when people ask if they’re Twins, I call them my “Two Triplets”.
Whether you’re talking apples or Kids, there were three of them.
THE KIDS ARE TRIPLETS.
* Just to clarify, I’m talking about the proverbial “you”. Not everyone and possibly not YOU.