No one prepares you for this part. You see the adorable photos—triplets in matching outfits, parents beaming with pride. What you don’t see are the sleepless nights, the moments when all three babies are crying at once, and the sheer exhaustion that makes even the smallest tasks feel overwhelming.
I love my children more than anything. But there were nights, especially around 2:40 a.m., when I sat holding one baby, listening to the other two cry, and wondered how we were going to keep going.
We weren’t fully prepared for three. Emotionally, financially, logistically—we were still adjusting to life with one child when we found out we were expecting triplets. What followed felt like stepping into a storm without a map. My husband and I, once so connected, now passed each other silently between feedings and diaper changes, both too tired to speak. The love never left—but it often felt buried under layers of fatigue.
When we first learned we were expecting three babies, it felt like a miracle—one we were grateful for, even as the reality sank in. But no one warned us about the kind of exhaustion that affects your health, your identity, and your marriage.
Each day felt like survival. I couldn’t remember the last meal I ate in peace or the last shower I took without racing against the next meltdown. Friends said, “Take it easy,” but there’s no easy when three little ones need you constantly and you’re the only one who knows where the clean onesies are.
My husband tried his best. But I saw the toll it was taking on him too—his patience thinning, the spark fading from his eyes. We were still holding on—but it was getting harder.
In a moment of quiet reflection, a difficult question surfaced: Were we doing our best for our children? We weren’t thinking of giving up—we were thinking of how to give them more than we felt we could provide. That’s when a conversation with family changed everything.
My sister-in-law, Marie, who had long dreamed of having children, reached out after hearing our struggles. She offered support—not judgment. Then something unexpected happened. She and her husband shared information from their family lawyer about programs designed to support parents of multiples—resources we had never known existed. These included financial assistance, access to childcare services, and family counseling.
For the first time in a long while, we felt something we hadn’t in months: hope.
We made a new decision. Not to separate our family—but to strengthen it by reaching out. We accepted help. We leaned on our family. We learned that being strong doesn’t mean doing it all alone.
Today, things are still busy. We’re still tired. But we’re no longer drowning—we’re managing. And we’re healing, together.
If you’re reading this and feeling overwhelmed, know this: you’re not alone. Reaching out for help is not a sign of weakness—it’s an act of love. Whether you’re caring for one child or more, there is support out there for you.
Asking for help changed everything for our family. And it can for yours, too.
