Sandra, 49, shares her true life story:
I dialled the number for the hospital and looked over at my hubby, Martin.
He was holding up his hand, fingers crossed, and looked like he might burst.
Finally, my doctor’s voice came on the other end.
I put him on speaker phone so Martin could hear.
“I have your test results,” he said. “It’s worked! You’re pregnant.”
Martin’s eyes filled with tears as he leapt up off the couch.
“I can’t believe it!” he cried. “I’m going to be a dad!”
It was all he’d ever wanted.
I already had four children from a previous relationship, but this was Martin’s first.
Kids hadn’t been on my mind when we had first got together – I was 49 years old!
But Martin was only 27 and desperate to for a baby.
So we’d had IVF treatment and now it seemed our second attempt had been successful.
I was thrilled.
When I was six weeks along, I went for an early scan.
Martin came with me for support and together we gazed at the monitor as the sonographer moved the wand over my belly.
“Look!” Martin cried, pointing to a shape on the screen.
But before I could respond, another shape appeared, and then another.
My heart pounded.
Could it be?
We were both so happy.
“Triplets!” the sonographer beamed.
“Congratulations!”
Martin looked like he was going to pass out!
“We’ll be fine, love,” I chuckled. “I’ve had four, I know what I’m doing!”
As the news sunk in, he seemed as delighted about it as I was.
Not everyone felt the same way, though.
A lot of my friends thought I was too old to have another baby, let alone three.
“Do you realise what you’re getting yourself in to?” one mate said.
“I might be 49 but I’ve got lots of energy,” I said.
I really did feel confident that I could handle it.
My pregnancy went without a hitch and at 37 weeks I had a caesarean.
“Two boys and a girl!” the surgeon said, smiling, as the tiny babies were lifted out of my tummy.
We named them Sam, Leigh, and Harriette.
As I held them, I felt that familiar rush of love and I knew I’d love every minute of taking care of these babies.
Martin kissed each of their tiny foreheads and my heart melted.
“They’re absolutely perfect,” he said.
Back home, three weeks later, me and Martin took it in turns to change nappies and soothe the babies to sleep.
Of course it was tiring, but I was so happy.
When the triplets were five months old, I went back to work part-time.
With Martin working full-time, it meant that we hardly ever saw each other.
He started staying back late and working some weekends, too.
We were like passing ships in the night.
Sam,Harriette and Leigh.
One night I’d been up every hour with the babies.
“Please can you help me,” I begged Martin when all three started crying at once.
“I’m too tired,” he shrugged.
I was furious, but too exhausted and busy with the babies to argue.
A few days later, I got home from work to find our babysitter Tina standing on the doorstep looking worried.
“Oh my God,” I panicked. “What’s happened? Are the babies okay?”
The truth is always stranger than fiction.
Check out Take 5 Podcast below to hear what happened to Sandra!
