They show you cute matching outfits and photos, but no one tells you what it actually feels like when all three babies start screaming at once and you haven’t slept more than 90 minutes in five days.
I love them. God, I love them more than anything.
But there’s this moment—every night around 2:40 a.m.—when I sit on the edge of the bed with one in my arms, the other two crying in stereo, and I wonder if we made a terrible mistake.
We weren’t ready for three. Emotionally, financially… we barely managed one before this.
We don’t even talk much anymore. The exhaustion is too much to bear. We’re both running on empty, just trying to get through the day. There are days when I look at him, and it feels like we’ve drifted apart. The connection we once had is buried beneath the constant noise and chaos of raising three babies.
We never imagined this would be our reality. When we found out we were having triplets, it was overwhelming in the best way possible. We were ecstatic, terrified, but above all, we felt blessed. But no one ever warned us how hard it would be. The sleepless nights, the endless feedings, the constant demands. I thought I knew what exhaustion was, but nothing could prepare me for this.
My husband, Nathan, tries to help. He does. But I can see the weariness in his eyes, too. His patience has thinned, his smile less genuine. He’s the same man I married, but he’s also someone else now—someone who’s been pushed to the edge. It’s hard to admit, but sometimes I wonder if we’re both sinking, and I don’t know how to pull us back up.
I love them, though. The triplets. It’s just that… there are moments when it all feels like too much.
That’s when the thought creeps in. A thought I can’t escape. Maybe we should give one up for adoption.
