We Had Triplets — And Now We’re Thinking of Giving One Away

When the doctor told us we were having triplets, my husband squeezed my hand like we’d won the jackpot. I smiled back, pretending I wasn’t terrified. Three tiny miracles—how could we not feel blessed? But nobody shows you the nights when all three wail at once, when I’m perched on the edge of the bed with one baby in my arms, the other two screaming in their cribs, and the bottle warmer beeps. Оne day, with the room shaking from their cries, a single terrifying question rose in my throat—what if the only way to save us all is to…

Nobody warns you about the nights that never end. They show you Instagram grids filled with matching onesies, three tiny hats in a row, the perfect family photo where all the babies are asleep and smiling. They don’t show you the 3 a.m. breakdowns, the sink piled with bottles, or the way your own chest tightens when three mouths open at once and the house becomes nothing but sirens and shadows.

When the doctor first told us we were having triplets, my husband squeezed my hand under the table. His eyes were wide, but he smiled at me like we’d just won the lottery. “Three at once,” he whispered. “We can do this.” I believed him. We had one beautiful daughter already, and though money was tight, we thought we could stretch it. We thought we were ready for anything.

But nothing prepares you for three newborns. Not the books, not the classes, not the well-meaning advice from friends who only ever juggled one baby at a time. Nothing prepares you for feeding one child while another screams, only to realize the third has been lying in a damp diaper for an hour. Nothing prepares you for the way your body aches from never sleeping more than 45 minutes at a time.

And nothing prepares you for watching the man you love—your rock—flinch every time the bottle warmer dings, his hands trembling as if he’s about to face a firing squad instead of a hungry six-pound infant.