Deborah Halverson's Blog

I’m stunningly grateful, and it’s time I said so publicly. I was just emailing a wonderful new mom, thanking her for the words of encouragement she sent my way regarding my efforts to keep all my balls in the air, and I realized that the thank you I was writing to her can—and should—be made to all the moms I’ve encountered in the three years since my triplets were born.

When my boys were still infants, it seemed like each day was twenty-four hours of constant crying (theirs and, yes, mine). In a grab at sanity, Read More…

Part of a series of essays I wrote during my triplets’ first year, this piece was penned August 2005, when the boys were seven months old:

If Supermom existed, she just might meet her match in the Wee Halveys. That’s what my colleagues call my seven-month-old triplets. Don’t get me wrong, these are marvelous babies—healthy and good-natured, born big for triplets, not a drop of colic in the batch. It’s just that there are three of them. Read More…

Part of a series of essays I wrote during my triplets’ first year, this piece was penned August 2005, when the boys were eight months old:

My office computer flashed me an error message yesterday: INSUFFICIENT MEMORY TO RUN APPLICATION. Then it ran the application anyway. Boggled, I muttered, “How can I have insufficient memory?” A voice on the other side of my cubicle wall said, “Because you have triplets.”

I fear there’s truth buried in my colleague’s playful jibe. Read More…

Part of a series of essays I wrote during my triplets’ first year, this piece was penned June 5, 2005, when the boys were six months old:

I found my bikini this morning. I was scrounging for clean socks when I came across the miniscule swath. A smart woman would have banished her bikini the day the doctor said, “That might just be a third baby….” But in a moment of pregnancy-induced psychosis I’ll generously call “optimism,” I’d tucked mine into the back of my sock drawer. Now there it was, dangling tauntingly from my fingertips. Read More…

Part of a series of essays I wrote during my triplets’ first year, this piece was penned March 2005, when the boys were three months old:

Becoming a mom didn’t happen the way I’d expected. I gave birth to triplets and twins on the same day—three perfect babies. Three? How can Deborah have triplets and twins but only three babies? Sounds like those nightmare word problems I dreaded in ninth grade. Back then I was the typical teen, thinking myself so clever when I informed Mr. Greene that I’d never use this stuff in real life. I’d planned to be a woman of letters, a literati. I had no idea then that my “real life” would eventually be one big word problem starting with the phrase That might just be a third baby…. Read More…