No one really talks about this part.
They show you cute triplet photos and matching outfits, but not the part where all three scream at once and you haven’t slept more than 90 minutes in days.
I love them—more than anything. But some nights, around 2:40 a.m., I sit on the edge of the bed, one baby in my arms, two crying, and I wonder if we made a mistake. We weren’t ready. Not emotionally. Not financially. My husband, once calm and patient, now flinches at every beep.
We barely talk anymore—just survive. And sometimes, I wonder if we’re both drowning. The joy we felt when we learned we were having triplets has been swallowed by exhaustion and chaos.
Then one night, the darkest thought crept in: maybe one of them deserves a better life. Maybe adoption.
It shattered me. But I looked into it. Read stories. Spoke to people. Nathan and I didn’t talk about it openly, but I could feel his silent agreement.
Then, he said it out loud.
“I think we should consider adoption,” he whispered one night.
It broke me. But it also brought relief. We weren’t alone in our thoughts.
A few days later, his sister Marie called. She and her husband had been trying for a baby for years. And now—they wanted to adopt one of ours. They were ready, stable, and full of love. I trusted her. It felt… okay. Not like giving up, but sharing the weight.
But then came the twist.
Marie spoke with a lawyer and found support programs we didn’t know existed—resources for overwhelmed families like ours. Financial aid. Counseling. Real help.
We realized we didn’t have to give a baby away. We just needed support.
So we chose to stay together as five. We reached out, accepted help, and began to rebuild. Not by doing it all alone—but by letting others in.
Because the hardest part wasn’t raising triplets. It was admitting we couldn’t do it by ourselves.
And that’s okay.
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