I’m pretty certain I’m done with the whole baby-making thing. Most of the time, anyway. The goal has always been to have two children, and I’m fortunate enough to have two wonderful boys. I adore them to bits—I often wish I could hit pause and keep them little forever. But I also really appreciate the freedoms that come with having older kids. My youngest is nearly three, and this summer he’s finally able to join in on some of the more “big kid” activities. We’ve enjoyed a few trips to the movies together; we can share a laugh; we can ride our bikes down the block side by side. The boys get along (with the occasional sibling squabble), and sometimes my husband and I can actually have uninterrupted conversations.
I can’t help but look forward to the freedom I envision when my youngest heads off to full-day kindergarten. Ever since my first son was born over eight years ago, I’ve worked only sporadically. I enjoy my job and truly value those quiet moments alone (even a car ride to work without kids would feel like a mini-vacation). Plus, we really could use the extra income. The thought of working less in the coming years just doesn’t sit right, nor does the idea of feeding, housing, or putting another child through college.
Most days, I’m completely on board with this plan. I’m a planner at heart, and the thought of changing the plan gives me anxiety.
But then there are moments.
One Saturday morning, we woke up with our youngest snuggled between us. My husband and I looked down at his sleepy, golden-haired face. He rolled closer to me, and I noticed how perfectly his little head nestled against my neck. I took a deep breath, inhaling him—the scent of sunblock from yesterday and a hint of baby shampoo, but mostly just the unique smell of him, something that’s impossible to bottle up.
Meanwhile, my older son was already up, seamlessly transitioning into his day. He doesn’t need to check in with us; he turns on the TV and waits for us to stumble into the living room, bleary-eyed. I can’t help but think how quickly my little one will grow up into that independent big boy—who won’t need those morning cuddles and whose head won’t fit into the crook of my neck anymore.
Then, a few minutes later, I opened Facebook and saw a friend’s pregnancy announcement, complete with a snapshot of her positive pregnancy test. And just like that, a wave of realization washed over me: I will never experience that again. Pregnancy, labor, newborns, and toddlers will all be part of my past. But that’s the plan, right? I remind myself that I’ve decided to close that chapter for good.
It felt like a punch to the gut, even though I knew it was coming. I had always been aware of this, but it rarely hit me so hard—so raw and immediate.
For a couple of hours, I mulled it over, crunching numbers and trying to calculate how old I would be when my youngest starts kindergarten (40) and whether I could even imagine having another baby before then (definitely not).
Later that afternoon, I started decluttering the house. After tossing out a bunch of broken straws and outdated menus, I wandered into my older son’s room. I came across a beloved board book that both my boys cherished as babies. It was called First Words, filled with simple, colorful pictures of everyday objects. Of all the similar books we had, this one was their favorite—well-loved and patched up with packing tape.
When my older son was little, I saved all his things in hopes of using them for our next child (and I still do—my younger son is living in hand-me-downs). But as I looked at that book, I realized I was ready to let go. I snapped a quick photo and tossed it in the trash.
Just hours before, I had been pondering the possibility of adding another baby to our family. But in that moment, my yearning for another child faded away. I was done with that baby book for good.
In fact, that’s how my desire for more children usually is—present at times but fleeting. When I truly want something, I struggle to let it go, and that tells me I’m not yearning for another child with enough intensity.
But I found it hard to part with the book completely. Instead, I put it in a box of keepsakes, just in case one of our kids decides to have children in the future—or if, you know, my 40th birthday rolls around, and my momentary cravings resurface.
Further Reading
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Summary
In this reflective piece, Sarah shares her journey of deciding whether to have more children. While she initially planned for two kids and cherishes her boys, moments of nostalgia arise as she contemplates the finality of her decision. Through the lens of a cherished book and her children’s growth, she navigates the bittersweet emotions tied to motherhood and the prospect of closure.