I Am My Own Cousin.

Chapter 1: The Third Twin

My memories slosh and swirl into a pool of soupy consciousness shared with my sisters. I cannot distinguish what happened to me and what happened to them. It doesn't really matter who experienced what, because we shared every second of every single day.For a brief time we were one egg.Once fertilized the egg split into three carbon copies. We floated around in the same womb juices for seven months, kicking, gouging, and wrestling one another to maneuver for prime real estate. We formed a deep-seated sibling rivalry,over who got the most nourishment, while in our communal amniotic sac. Until the day our mother was sliced and diced open like a dissected frog and we were yanked into the world. We are identical triplets.Three individual humans, regarded by the general public to be one person, one entity.

My parents were teenagers when they got married. Mom was a shy, sixteen-year-old student; Dad was a nineteen-year-old TV/VCR repairman. The young newlyweds moved into a tiny motel room that doubled as Dad's business. Soon Mom developed what she thought was a nasty case of the flu; but after a positive pregnancy test they scheduled an appointment with an OB-GYN.

The technician did an ultrasound and delivered the shocking news that she could clearly see two distinct heartbeats. While the teenagers were reeling over this, the technician scanned back over Mom's stomach to ensure she hadn't missed anything. "I hear another heartbeat! I think there is a third baby in there!" Dad's face turned white and his knees buckled. Mom began crying.

After a few days to recover, Dad was excited about having three children in one go. Nothing makes a man feel virile like spawning three offspring simultaneously. Mom had always wanted a big family and was excited about having three babies to play with. They were completely clueless about what lay ahead of them, a special naivety that only adolescents possess. Mom suffered from severe morning sickness so she dropped out of high school and languished on bed rest.

When the big day arrived we were two months early. Because of Mom's age, small stature, and multiple pregnancy, a cesarean was necessary. Due to archaic attitudes towards men and childbirth, Dad was instructed to wait outside in the waiting area. Before fertility drugs became all the rage, multiple births were quite the spectacle. At the time, only 150 sets of identical triplets were born in the United States per year. Over forty medical professionals watched our birth, as if it were the opening ceremony at the OB-GYN Olympics. As premies, the three of us suffered various complications, so we roasted in incubators for two months before going home.

Having one newborn is a difficult task, having three newborns that are all hungry, awake all night, or filling up their diapers simultaneously is a logistical nightmare. All the pains associated with one infant are multiplied by three. Whenever one of us would start crying it would trigger the other two to join in a chorus of wailing. The cost of three babies is astronomical and our parents had to rely on donations from family, churches, and friends to meet our basic needs.

Every time our parents left the house with us it was a big time-consuming production. They would dress us in matching outfits, and pack enough supplies for anything that three infants might need; bottles, diapers, and changes of clothes. Then they loaded up the three-seat stroller, and three car seats into our beat-up station wagon. It was easier for Lewis and Clark to trek across America than for the Kennedy family to make a quick run to the grocery store.

When our family finally ventured out people were so astonished by the sight of matching babies that their manners would fly out of the window. Many would touch or poke us without asking permission beforehand, putting their un-sanitized hands all over our faces. Predictable questions followed; "Do they share a brain?", "Can they feel each other's pain?", and the inevitable "Are they three twins?" Our parents tolerated these gaffes, but others had inexcusable reactions.

Complete strangers would ask my parents detailed questions about their failed method of birth control, desperate to avoid the same three misfortunes from befalling themselves. One gentleman was disappointed to learn we did not all share the same first name. A well-to-do lady in a parking lot patted our teenage mother on the shoulder and said "Better you than me, dear." A surprising number of individuals proved their ignorance of the egg-splitting process by inquiring if we all three have the same father.