Oh, how I long to welcome you into my life! It’s not just that many women dream of having babies; I deeply desire to have you. I yearn for the sensation of your gentle movements inside me, that magical moment when you’re placed on my chest, your tiny cries filling the air—a love that’s both extraordinary and wonderfully ordinary. I can almost smell your sweet newborn head and cradle you close, feeling the warmth of your soft skin. I can’t wait to watch your brothers’ faces light up with joy, hear their silly nicknames for you, and listen to their endless requests to hold you. I want you, little one, more than words can express.
This longing weighs heavy on my heart, especially as I see friends announcing their pregnancies. I can’t help but think that if I were to get pregnant now, you’d be just two years younger than each of your three brothers. My heart aches with the anticipation of you growing within me, and the certainty that you will come into our lives.
But alas, it’s not the right time. I have solid reasons—thoughtful considerations that ultimately boil down to one phrase: one day, but not today. I know this yearning for you isn’t as painful as infertility can be for many. Many people desperately want children and can’t have them at all. While we could have you, we’ve made the choice to wait, which carries its own kind of ache. Every day we decide not to bring you into the world, it stings. We miss you deeply.
And this feeling is genuine, my dear. It’s not just a fleeting surge of hormones or a whimsical nostalgia for newborn days. I can hear the skeptics, the ones who call me baby-crazy or selfish for my desire. They don’t see that I yearn for the full essence of you—not just your babyhood but your entire life, your childhood, your adulthood, and the wonderful person you’ll become. We’re complete as a family, yet there’s a sense of incompleteness, as if a piece is missing.
Though I know I should celebrate what I have—and I truly do, as I love your brothers—my heart still whispers: now, now, now. So while my friends joyfully share their pregnancy news, I’ll be here, quietly wishing for you. As the months pass, marking the anniversaries of when I became pregnant with your brothers, I will ache to hold you. While my friends discuss midwives and home births, I’ll be dreaming of you. As the seasons change and I remember the summer when my belly could have bloomed with your presence, that emptiness will linger.
One day, my little one, this ache will fade, and I will finally embrace you in my arms. But for now, I wait.
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