I long for you deeply. Many women share the desire for children, but my yearning for you is profound. I crave the gentle movements of your little kicks inside me, the unexpected moment of you being placed on my chest, fresh and wailing, igniting a love that is both extraordinary and familiar. I want to bury my face in your soft, newborn hair and inhale that sweet, milky scent of your neck. I envision carrying you close, wrapped against my heart. I can already picture your brothers’ faces lighting up at the sight of you, eagerly offering silly nicknames and asking to hold you. Oh, how I want you, little one.
This longing runs deep within me, especially as I watch my friends announce their new pregnancies. It stings to know that if I were to conceive now, you would share the same age gap as each of your three brothers. The thought of you growing inside me fills my heart with joy and anticipation, knowing you would soon join our family.
But, alas, it’s not the right time.
I have my reasons—valid and thoughtful reasons that boil down to a simple truth: One day, but not now. I recognize that my ache for you pales in comparison to the heartbreak of those facing infertility. Many desire children yet cannot conceive. This isn’t a matter of impossibility for us; we could have you, but we choose not to. It’s a different kind of pain, this longing for what could have been. We could welcome you now, yet we don’t. Each day, we make this choice, and the absence of you weighs on our hearts.
This feeling is genuine, my dear. It isn’t just a fleeting surge of hormones or a passing nostalgia for baby days. I know there will be skeptics who dismiss my feelings as mere baby fever, labeling me as selfish for wanting the newborn experience. But they fail to understand that I miss the complete version of you—every stage, from infancy to adulthood, the endless journey of your life. We are a complete family yet feel incomplete, whole yet unfinished.
While I recognize the importance of appreciating what I have—and I do cherish your brothers—there’s an undeniable space in my heart for more. My mind insists on patience, “Not yet,” while my heart screams, “Now, now, now.”
So, as my friends celebrate their pregnancies, I will listen to their joyful announcements and feel the ache of your absence. As the months pass, marking the anniversaries of when I conceived your brothers, I will yearn to hold you. While others engage in discussions about the merits of midwives and homebirths, my thoughts will drift to you. When the seasons change and summer arrives, the time when my belly would swell with your presence, I will feel that familiar emptiness.
Someday, little one, this longing will fade. Someday, I will hold you in my arms. But for now, we wait.
For those navigating similar emotions, I encourage you to check out this post on the possibilities of family planning. Additionally, if you’re considering home insemination, you can find quality kits at a great retailer like Make a Mom. For more insights on pregnancy and home insemination, explore March of Dimes.
Summary
The heartfelt letter expresses a deep longing for a future child while acknowledging the reasons for waiting. It captures the bittersweet emotions of wanting another baby amidst the joy of existing children. The author reflects on the unique ache of lost possibilities, emphasizing the desire for a complete family while balancing love for the children already present.
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