Don’t Miss a Beat

If I blink, they might disappear. I can’t believe this is real. All three of our boys under our roof. Our house finally feels like a home.

Liam had the nursery finished while I was still in the hospital, thanks to Zach, Isla, Fred, and Alanna. Three white cribs are lined up along a charcoal-grey accent wall with a realistic New York City skyline painted by hand. Isla’s artistic talents came through beautifully, featuring the One World Trade Center and the other beautiful architecture Liam and I fell in love with. The boys each have white bedding, but different blankets, which was an intentional decision to give them a bit of individuality. We don’t want them to spend their lives being known as “the triplets.” We want them to be Lenox, Lincoln, and Hudson.

We have a change table next to the sofa under the window dressed with yellow curtains, and two dressers to accommodate the 197 onesies and sleepers that are required when you have three infants. The finishing touches were added by a yellow and white chevron carpet, and a crystal light-fixture that creates fractals of light bouncing off of every surface. We struggled to settle on a style, but I think the New York City theme is absolutely perfect.

When I assumed we wouldn’t worry about oxygen saturation, heart rates, or CO2 scores when we came home, I was wrong. Instead of feeling confident that our babies are healthy enough to be at home, I lie awake staring at them, afraid to fall asleep because we no longer have alarms to alert us if something goes wrong. Liam keeps trying to convince me to come to bed, but I’ve been power napping on the sofa in the boys’ room since they arrived home two weeks ago.

Yes, I’m tired. I want to sleep, but I can’t shut my brain off to allow that to happen. I can’t deactivate my worry mode, and I don’t know how I’m meant to survive like this. I’m so afraid a moment away from them will make them feel neglected, and I will not allow that to happen.

Dola interrupts my vacant stare at our three beautiful sleeping babies. “Hi, Love.” I turn to face her, but before I can say anything she continues, “I’m here to relieve you so you can sleep.”

She’s waiting for me to respond, but I’m so drowsy, my movements mimic a sloth; they have no excuse to move so slowly though. They sleep twenty hours a day. I haven’t slept twenty hours in the last five days combined.

“Did Liam call you?”

“He did, but I wanted to come see my grandbabies, anyway. So don’t argue with me. Go upstairs and sleep in the guest room so you won’t hear us, and if I need you, I’ll come get you.”

I look back at the boys, not wanting to leave them. I’m afraid if I leave, something will go wrong. Dola is far more equipped to handle anything than I am, but there’s a biological need for me to be close to them. We lost so much time with them in the hospital; I want to soak up every minute now. Today is my official due date, and in the time they should have been growing inside of me, I feel I’ve missed out on so much.

“I’m not taking no for an answer, Love. Get yourself upstairs. Have a shower, get some sleep. We’ll be fine. I even called Zara on my way over, and she’s coming shortly.”

How am I to argue with that? Two doting grandmothers want to have some time with their grandsons; I would be horrible to not allow it.

“Okay. Thank you for this. I’ll just sleep for a little while because they’ll all want to eat when they wake up. Just wake me if I don’t get up on my own.”

I blow each boy a kiss and make my way upstairs to our guest room. The room has been neglected over the past few months, with the once pristine decor being mixed with baby gear and boxes of diapers in every brand and size. It does little for the aesthetic of the space. Regardless, I’m going to rest my head and attempt to shut my brain off long enough to sleep. I assume it won’t be easy, but my body disagrees.

When I wake up, I take a few seconds to adjust to my surroundings. I haven’t woken anywhere but the sofa in the boys’ room since they returned home; this space feels foreign. I hear voices downstairs, so I stop in the bathroom before heading to the family room.

I’m greeted by the smiling faces of Zara, Isla, and Dola, each with a baby in their arms.

“Sleeping Beauty is finally awake,” Zara states.

I look into the kitchen at the clock on the stove to notice it’s 4:39pm. I rub my eyes, certain I’m seeing it wrong. I went upstairs at 10:20am. For a nap. A siesta. Not a six-hour snooze. That explains why my boobs hurt so much. “Why didn’t anyone wake me? I should have been up to feed the boys.”

“Chels, relax. Everything is under control. They’ve eaten, and they are content. You needed sleep.” Zara shrugs, glancing at Dola, who is seated on our navy sofa with Lincoln.

“She’s right, Love. Rest is necessary, and we’ve all had a wonderful time with the babies. It takes a village.”

I want to appreciate their help, their generosity, but all I feel is guilt. Remorse for the fact other people are here caring for children I brought into the world. Shame for having them spend weeks being tended to by strangers who were providing things I couldn’t just to keep them alive. Regret that I’ve missed out on the last six hours with them after being absent for so many already. I can’t rewind the clock, but I can’t remove the self-condemnation with logic either.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to sleep that long.” I slept longer than I have in weeks—months, probably—but I still feel tired. Tired and guilty.

“We were just talking about how amazing it is that the first time you got pregnant, you had three babies at once. The odds must be one in a million. You should play the lottery.” Isla is smirking at me, one finger tucked in Lenox’s fist.

I don’t know how to respond to her because it wasn’t my first pregnancy. More guilt is piled on knowing I’ve kept Sugar a secret from everyone just to shield them from the hurt. That’s done nothing but deny our first baby’s existence.

“Actually, I was pregnant once before.” Silence. Two shocked faces peer back at me, but neither speaks. Dola was in the know thanks to Liam, so it’s not a surprise to her. Still, I don’t want Zara to think I told my mother-in-law over her, so I address all three of them. “I was pregnant last summer and wanted to wait until twelve weeks to tell everyone. You know, they say ‘wait until you’re out of the danger zone.’” I add a head wobble for emphasis, so they know that’s a real thing “experts” say. “But at our first ultrasound, around eleven weeks, we found out the baby died. A baby we ended up naming Sugar since that seemed like a cute gender-neutral name and Sugar Hill was our favourite area in Manhattan.” I’m rambling now, looking at my hands wringing together in my lap.

“Oh, Chels. I wish you would have told us. I’m so sorry you went through that on your own.” Zara lays Hudson on a blanket on the floor and walks over to sit beside me on the couch, wrapping her left arm around me.

“It’s fine. There’s nothing you could have done to change it.” I sniffle, wiping a singular tear from my cheek.

“We may not have been able to change the reality, but we could have been a support team. We could have at least loved you.”

I stand from my seat, sliding out from Zara’s arm, and return a moment later holding a folded piece of paper dated October 13. I hand it to Zara, who opens it to view the contents.

“Sugar.” She looks up at me, wide-eyed. “You guys wrote your baby a letter?”

I nod. “It was our way of saying goodbye.”

She reads the letter out loud, and by the end of it, aside from the babies, there’s not a dry eye in the house.

“Oh, Chels. That is beautiful. It’s such a lovely tribute to your first baby.” Zara folds the paper and sets it on the end table. “I know it doesn’t make the loss any easier, but Hudson, Lincoln, and Lenox, well, they exist because Sugar doesn’t. And from now on—now that we know—Sugar will always be remembered as a part of our family, but I’m grateful for the three beautiful babies you have here.”

I’ve come to that conclusion before. That reality was never lost on me, that if I was still pregnant with Sugar, I would have never become pregnant with the boys. And having them here, I couldn’t imagine an alternate reality. Zara is right. Sugar deserves to be remembered as part of our family, but I can’t allow the fear and sadness that came as a result of our loss to dictate how I love our boys going forward.