No one talks about this part.
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.
And my husband, who used to be so patient, now flinches when the bottle warmer beeps.
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 body is breaking down. I feel like I’m constantly running on fumes. I can’t remember the last time I had a meal without one of the babies crying in the background. My friends—those who don’t have kids—tell me to “take it easy,” but how can I? I don’t have time to take it easy. There’s always something that needs to be done, and I’m always at the center of it.
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.
I never imagined myself thinking that. I never imagined I’d even consider it. But as the days drag on and my body feels like it’s betraying me, I can’t help but wonder if the decision might be the right one for everyone—especially for the babies.
I’ve looked up adoption agencies. I’ve talked to people who have adopted before. I’ve read stories about how families just like mine have gone through the same struggles, and somehow, they made it work. But it always comes with a price, doesn’t it? The thought of giving up one of my children—of losing the chance to be a part of their life—is gut-wrenching. But there’s the nagging thought that maybe, just maybe, it would give them a better life. A life where they don’t have to share every moment with two other babies, where they don’t have to grow up in the chaos.
