I Can’t Stomach It

My husband made a nine-hour drive in seven hours, twenty-two minutes in a rental car he negotiated away from an elderly couple who couldn’t stop bickering. Liam’s offer of a hefty wad of cash settled their disputes. He promised he’d be here, and he is. As soon as I felt his touch, my fears surrounding childbirth were halved. Not because he has any medical expertise, but because I don’t have to hide my fears from him and he helps me carry the weight of them.

The room is crowded with various medical staff and equipment. There are three NICU teams on standby to tend to each baby as they’re born. Knowing that is both concerning and comforting. I’m just shy of thirty-three weeks, which is normal for triplets but still seven weeks premature. I hope all three boys are born with some of the tenacity I’ve had over the course of my life, but without the turmoil.

When the doctor indicates he’s ready to begin, I look at Liam, who bends down to place his forehead against mine. “You’ve got this. Let’s meet our boys.”

“Let’s meet our boys,” I reply.

Baby A is born at 4:33am, weighing three pounds eleven ounces. He has a full head of medium brown hair, and an alarming amount of body hair. The nurse who shows him to us assures me that is normal. I’ve never seen a hairy baby before, but he’s beautiful. Liam gushes over his little nose and tiny fingers, but the first NICU team ushers him off quickly as he needs some assistance breathing.

We don’t have the chance to panic too much before Baby B arrives at 4:37am, weighing four pounds, two ounces, looking just like his older brother. I suppose a lifetime as the middle child isn’t so bad when you’re only four minutes younger. I’m able to reach out and touch his little toes before he’s swept away by the second NICU team.

Baby C comes into the world at 4:49am after he gave the doctors a scare, but is the first of the three to let out a muffled cry. The sound is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. At three pounds, four ounces, he’s the smallest, but I’m told their weights are average for their gestational age.

“Look, Babe. He has your hair!”

When I examine the newest member of our family, I notice he has a full head of straight, coppery hair—granted, he is covered in womb goo. His features look much like his big brothers’, but he’s got his own unique look. My baby boy.

Liam and I are given some time alone in my recovery room, with frequent interruptions from nurses, and one from the doctor who performed my cesarean. As far as they’re concerned, things went well, and despite warnings of some pain while I recover, they have no major worries. That’s a relief, but my focus is on my babies. I want to see them more than anything. The last nurse said I can see them shortly, and I’m counting the minutes.

We settle on our babies’ names, content knowing we’ll be shouting them hundreds of times over the next few decades.

When I’m given the thumbs up to see the babies, I would jump with joy if I wasn’t worried about my innards landing on the polished concrete floor. That would put a damper on the day.

I take a seat in an elaborate semi-reclined wheelchair, and Liam is instructed to have me back in bed within the hour. I have sixty minutes to see my babies and I don’t want to waste a single one.

We round the corner into the hallway en route to the NICU and find our families waiting for an update. Their expressions are a mix of excitement and concern. As soon as they see us, each one of them drops their shoulders a couple of inches. How they got here before 7am is a wonder.

“They’re here,” Liam declares, which is met by cheers and hugs. “They’re all in the NICU, so you can see them, but they only allow two people at a time. I think their Momma should see them first.” Everyone nods in agreement, which I wouldn’t expect otherwise.

Before we can get any further, Zach asks, “what did you name them?”

I smile and glance at Liam. He nods for me to share the names we’ve chosen. “Well, when we took our honeymoon to New York, we spent a lot of time exploring different neighbourhoods. First, we went to Chelsea, because Liam wanted to take pictures of me with everything that had my name.” Everyone chuckles because that’s a very cheesy Liam thing to do. “So we gave the babies all New York City names. Baby A is Hudson, like Hudson Yards. Hudson Zachary.”

I look at Zach and his eyes widen with surprise. “Really?”

“Really. You were the first man I ever trusted. The first one I loved. Giving our son your name is the least I can do to repay you for everything.” He nods but doesn’t speak. He’s clearly surprised. “Baby B is Lincoln, like Lincoln Square. Lincoln Frederick.”

Zara gasps. “Oh, Dad will be so happy.”

“I hope so. He welcomed me into the family without hesitation, and I hope our son grows up to be as wonderful as my grandpa.” I turn to look at Liam’s father. “Baby C, our little ginger, is Lenox. From Lenox Hill. Lenox Ian Davis.”

Ian looks at his son, then at me. “After me?”

Liam and I both laugh.

“Yes, Dad. Of course, after you. You taught me everything about being a man and a father. I love you, old man.”

“I love you too, son. I love you both.” Everyone exchanges hugs, but I’m getting impatient, wanting to see my babies.

Before we can get away, Zach asks, “so, if you ever get a dog, are you going to name him Yonkers?” He laughs at his own joke, and I roll my eyes at his attempted humour.

Zara chimes in, “no. They’d name it Sugar. She told me their favourite neighbourhood was Sugar Hill.”

Her comment startles me. I’ve been so distracted by the events of the day, it’s the first time I haven’t thought about Sugar. Our one baby who should have been here, but we were given three instead. I never would have chosen to lose our first baby, but if Sugar was here, Lincoln, Hudson, and Lenox wouldn’t be. As hard as the journey was, I have to look at the bright side.

Liam gives me a squeeze on my shoulder, and I assume he’s having the same thoughts as me. He informs everyone we’re going to see our babies, and wheels me down the hallway.

When we round the corner into the NICU, there seems to be a lot of commotion. I sympathize with the family whose baby warrants such a kerfuffle, because in neonatal intensive care, I would imagine it’s not a good sign. When we enter the ward our babies are in, Liam stops in his tracks and turns white as a sheet of paper. It only takes me a split second to realize why.

Lenox has a team of doctors and nurses surrounding him, with one issuing determined instructions to everyone else. It’s a good thing I’m in a wheelchair, or I might have collapsed to the floor.

“What’s happening? What’s wrong with our baby?”