I want to begin by clarifying that I am not currently expecting you, nor am I in the process of bringing you into this world—at least not right now. This isn’t due to a lack of desire; in fact, it’s precisely because I wish for you and want the best possible life for you that I take a small blue pill each morning. I endure bloating, spotting, and a range of other side effects that come along with birth control.
I recognize this may seem contradictory, but the timing isn’t right. You deserve everything life has to offer—just as your older sibling, Lily, does. Unfortunately, I am not in a place to provide that for you at this moment. I’m grappling with emotional challenges and financial uncertainties. I am actively working on the emotional front, attending therapy every Wednesday with a therapist who is pregnant, which often stirs up my yearning for you. As for the financial aspect, your father and I are making strides, but we haven’t reached our goals yet.
There is also a deeper, more daunting issue that I battle with. After Lily was born, I experienced postpartum depression. This was not merely the baby blues or fatigue; it was a profound struggle that cast a shadow over that first year—a darkness that felt colorless and suffocating.
I found myself in tears while caring for Lily as she grew, experiencing milestones I should have cherished. Instead, I felt disconnected and incapable of being the mother she deserved. The feelings of helplessness and despair were overwhelming; at times, I wished to escape it all.
While I am on the path to recovery, a lingering fear remains: am I still that mother—a woman merely existing with a child rather than being the nurturing parent Lily, or you, deserve? I aspire to improve myself before welcoming you into our family.
Every time I hear someone ask, “Are you planning for baby number two?” it stings. I want to, but I cannot. It’s not a matter of physical ability—though I recognize my “pain” is minor compared to those struggling to conceive—rather, it’s the emotional weight and sense of failure that accompany my situation. Logically, I understand that waiting is our best option, yet it’s frustrating to know that you could be part of our lives, but we are choosing not to bring you into the world just yet.
There are moments when I find myself daydreaming about you, baby number two. I wonder about your gender and what color your eyes might be. I think about how Lily will react when she meets you. Will she embrace you with the same affection she shows her stuffed toys? Will she teach you her adorable way of asking for “pwease,” melting our hearts and earning sweet treats in the process? Or, will the wait render her too old to care?
Some days, I feel ready to have you, and I contemplate starting the journey with your father. Yet, deep down, I know we aren’t quite there yet.
If you’re interested in learning more about the journey of home insemination, you can explore this excellent resource on pregnancy and home insemination. Additionally, for those considering at-home options, this guide offers valuable information. For any questions or further insights, you may also visit this link to engage with our community.
In summary, while my heart aches with the desire for you, I know that the time for our family to grow will come when I am truly ready. Until that day arrives, I will continue to work on being the best version of myself for you and your sister.