And now what I can't see is a life without them
One year ago today, our entire world was changed in a matter of seconds. Pixels on a monitor were the culprit, and I’ll never forget the look on the ultrasound tech’s face when she paused and said, “No, there’s 3.”
As triplet parents, we will perpetually be asked a series of questions like “do twins run in your family?” and “did you do IVF?” Many find them cumbersome, but I don’t typically mind answering inquiring minds. The question I do get, however, that will forever haunt me is when people ask, “what was your reaction when you found out?”
To say I didn’t take the news well is an understatement. Our technician RAN out of our room after I screamed to get them out of me. A team of nurses had to be rushed in to get me somewhere safe, somewhere I could take the time I needed to recover from my panic attack and listen to my husband make the phone calls to our families as I sat looking at my ultrasound in tears.
Instead of being overjoyed with what was supposed to be my one, perfect baby that would make our family complete, I was burdened with thoughts of future financial and emotional struggles. How will we fit 3 car seats into my Camry to avoid having a new car payment? How will I ever fund 3 college tuitions? Will our marriage survive this?
And how will I ever love 3 babies with all of my being?
With all of my being, that's how.
It's in my nature to always be looking to the future and prepare for it in the best way I can, but because of them, that future is so much more fulfilling. I can see three toddlers in bee suits and muck boots, teetering down the 900’ tree lined driveway to the beehive. I can see our boys “helping” daddy build the chicken coop while he so patiently answers their 64,000 questions. I can see our fearless little girl with the scraped up knees finding herself at home, up a tree, like her mama; reading a book like daddy. I can see them running barefoot and wild in our 6 acre forest, or sitting at our kitchen island with dirt-covered feet, legs dangling as they scarfed down lunch in an effort to quickly resume play.
And now what I can't see is a life without them.