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.
My heart aches every time I think about it. But the stress is so overwhelming. And the worst part? Nathan is on the same page. We don’t talk about it openly, but I can feel his hesitation, his uncertainty, just as much as I feel mine. He loves them, too, but we’re barely surviving as it is. I don’t want to blame him. We’re both trying, but it’s like we’re both drowning and don’t know how to reach out for each other.
And then, one evening, the thought that has been tormenting me takes on a new form.
I’m sitting in the living room, the babies are asleep (for once), and Nathan is sitting beside me. We don’t say anything for a while. Just sit, in the quiet, a rare moment of peace. And then, out of nowhere, he turns to me.
“I’ve been thinking…” he starts, his voice barely above a whisper.
My heart races. I know exactly where this is going.
“We can’t do this anymore,” he says. “It’s too much. I can’t stand seeing you like this. You’re barely holding it together. And neither of us are happy. Not like we used to be. I think—maybe we should consider adoption. For their sake.”
The words hit me like a punch in the stomach. The thought I’d been too afraid to voice aloud has come from him instead. I don’t know whether to feel relief or heartbreak. I don’t know whether to cry or scream.
But I don’t say anything. I just sit there, staring at him, as the weight of the decision presses down on me.
“I can’t lose them,” I finally whisper, my voice cracking. “I don’t want to give up one of them. They’re my babies, Nathan.”
“I know,” he says, his eyes full of pain. “But I’m not sure we’re the best parents for them right now. Maybe… maybe they deserve more. More than we can give.”
The room is heavy with silence. My mind spins. We’ve been here for so long, so tired, so overwhelmed by the demands of it all. But is adoption really the answer?
A few days later, something unexpected happens. We get a call from my sister-in-law, Marie. She’s been trying for years to have a baby, but for reasons they couldn’t explain, it never worked out. But the call? The call changes everything.
Marie and her husband, Paul, want to adopt one of our babies. They’ve been talking about it for months, about how they could give one of the triplets the kind of life they deserve—a stable home, a calm environment, with people who are ready and able to give that child everything they need.
At first, I’m stunned. I never thought I’d be open to the idea, but as Marie talks, I realize something—I trust her. I trust her with my children. She’s not a stranger. She’s family. She’s the one person I know would love that child with everything she has.
And for the first time in weeks, I feel a sense of peace. Maybe this is the answer. Not giving up, but sharing the responsibility. Not abandoning, but giving the child the chance to grow in an environment where they can truly thrive.
But then, the twist comes.
Marie and Paul sit down with us a few days later to talk about the adoption. They’re so excited, but there’s a catch. They’ve been working with a family lawyer who specializes in cases like this—and they’ve discovered something. Our family’s financial troubles, the stress we’ve been under, all of it—there’s a way for us to get the help we need.
It turns out that there are support programs for families like ours, families overwhelmed by the demands of raising multiple children, who are eligible for assistance. With this newfound information, we realize that adoption isn’t the only option. We can get help. We can receive support, financial aid, even counseling services to help us get through this challenging time.
The thought of letting go of one of the babies still tugs at my heart, but now we have a new perspective. We don’t have to do it alone. There’s help available. And with it, we can start healing—together.
We decide not to go through with the adoption. Instead, we take the steps we need to support all three babies, with the help of our family. We reach out for assistance, we ask for guidance, and we make a commitment to each other that we will make this work.
In the end, it wasn’t about giving up. It was about finding the strength to ask for help when we needed it most. Sometimes, the hardest part isn’t taking on the burden alone—it’s letting go of the pride that tells us we have to do everything ourselves.
We learned that there’s no shame in asking for help, and that true strength comes from the willingness to accept support from others.
If you’re struggling, whether it’s with parenthood or anything else, remember this: you don’t have to do it alone. Reach out. Ask for help. There’s no shame in it. You’re stronger than you think, and sometimes, the best way to move forward is to allow others to help carry the load.
Share this with anyone who needs a reminder that it’s okay to ask for help when the weight becomes too much to bear.
