Just Being Honest

I'll be honest. I haven't always been happy about having triplets.

I have never done harder work in my life. And I worked in a lignite plant for a while in college. I delivered newspapers in hip-deep snow as a boy in my home town. I was a newspaper reporter.

I think I have a fair appreciation of hard work. So trust me when I say that unless you have multiples, you just can't know how difficult this is.

I remember the day we found out we were having triplets. We had been in to see the doctor a few weeks before, and the ultrasound had revealed that we were having twins. It was a bit of a shock, but we already had three daughters, so what could the difference between four and five children really be, anyway?

During the ultrasound at the follow-up appointment, the doctor just sat back in his seat and said, simply, "Oh my."

When he told us it was triplets, I decided right away that I could not go back for any more ultrasounds. Every time I went, more babies were discovered in there.

Shortly after making that decision, I think I slipped into a coma. I didn't say a word for the better part of an hour.

And then there was the pregnancy. We've forgotten most of it by now (a tip of my hat, here, to the fallibility of our memories), but it was extremely difficult. And then there was the sleep deprivation. And the restrictions on our lives that came with adding three babies at once.

And even after all that, our house is filled with baby gear. If your eyes don't bulge out a bit the first time you visit our house, you either work in a kindergarten classroom or a daycare. Otherwise, the bouncy seats, the baby toys, the boppies, the swings, the walkers, and the three-seat feeding table will take your breath away.

As it turns out, all that can take the space in your house away as well.

We had to buy a minivan. Enough said on that point.

I'm 36 years old, and suffice it to say that I was not eager to start over. To deal with mountains of poopy diapers, puke stains in the carpet, unrelenting crying, or children who can't buckle their own car seats.

My boys are eight months old now, and as it always does, time has provided me with a somewhat more informed perspective.

We do have a lot of baby stuff in our house. And yes, despite our best efforts, the trash can next to the changing table does occasionally overflow with messy diapers.

But we have three healthy boys. They survived a recent bout with RSV, and although the next round of sickness is never more than a week away, they are healthy now.

And happy. They smile and laugh constantly. And we learn new ways to make them laugh every day.

They never had colic, not even for a moment. We never spent a single moment walking the floor with any of them, trying in vain to get them to stop crying. Oh, they've cried. But any of you whose children have had colic know the difference.

We've never had a moment's worth of rivalry. We were excessively worried from the beginning about making sure the arrival of our boys did not overshadow the lives of our girls. And maybe we've avoided any sense of rivalry because we were so focused on preventing it. But our girls love their brothers incredibly. The hug them, and kiss them, and carry them around the house. They are, I believe, truly happy that their brothers are here.

We have terrific children. Most parents probably believe that, and count us among them. They are smart, well-adjusted, polite, loving, fun children. They make our lives full and happy. They give us so much more than they require of us.

I'll be honest. I wasn't very happy about the idea of having triplets. But after eight months of this exquisite chaos, I just can't imagine my family any other way.

And I wouldn't want to.