I SLEEP AT RED LIGHTS

The joys and horrors of staying home to raise triplets and their older sibling.

Like a veteran war correspondent, Esquire columnist Stockler takes pride in the sheer fact of still being alive. And while raising children, even triplets, should not be comparable to waging war, the times conspire to make the enterprise as demanding as any military incursion. Stockler begins with wife Roni’s conception via in-vitro fertilization. The couple live in a small New York apartment and already have one son, two-year-old Asher. When they learn that Roni is carrying triplets, Stockler, editor of a film trade magazine, alternately exults and worries about money, accommodations, and spending time with Asher. Roni spends the last weeks of her pregnancy in bed, but is back at work three weeks after she delivers Jared, Barak, and Hannah. (She is the major earner and has just made partner at her law firm.) The family moves to a house in the suburbs, and the exhausted Stockler commutes into the city each day, snatching moments of sleep on the train and at work. They have some help, but as Roni works longer hours, getting home well after 10 p.m. most nights, he feeds, diapers, and comforts the triplets through the night. He becomes a local fixture, running errands while pushing a three-seat stroller, and recipient of many friendly greetings. When Roni talks wistfully of changing her job and moving to a small town, Stockler is conscious of the sacrifices she is making, especially when he loses his job and does not find another. But despite the worries and the physical and financial cost, he feels privileged to have been so present in his children’s lives.

Funny—but undercurrents of angst make this a vivid status report on modern parenting.