No one prepares you for this part. They show you the adorable photos—triplets in matching outfits, smiling parents glowing with joy. But they never show you what it’s like when all three babies are crying at once, and you’ve barely slept more than an hour in five days.
I love my children more than anything, but some nights around 2:40 a.m., I sit at the edge of the bed with one baby in my arms and the other two wailing in the background, and I wonder—did we make a mistake?
We weren’t ready for three. We weren’t even fully ready for two. Emotionally, financially, logistically—we were struggling with one before the pregnancy. And now, it’s like we’ve been thrown into a storm with no compass. My husband, once endlessly patient, winces at the sound of the bottle warmer. We barely talk anymore, not out of anger, but out of sheer exhaustion. We pass each other like ghosts in the same house, too drained to connect. The love is still there, buried somewhere under the endless cycles of feeding, changing, soothing.
When we first learned we were expecting triplets, it felt like a miracle. A terrifying, beautiful miracle. We were excited, scared, overwhelmed. But no one warned us about this kind of fatigue—how it carves away at your health, your identity, your marriage.