One. That’s the number of pills I overlooked during my honeymoon. I doubled my dosage the next day.
Eight. That’s how many days my period was late the next month.
Four. Four pregnancy tests I took — each on separate instances.
Two. Two times the nurse had to stick my arm to draw blood for a pregnancy test.
And five. Five minutes I spent sobbing in my car as the realization dawned on me.
I was not pregnant. No embryo, no fertilized egg, and certainly no baby. My body wasn’t going to spontaneously produce a miracle. There was no mythical creature sprinkling magic over my blood test. I couldn’t wish it into existence. It simply wasn’t there. No baby. Just emptiness.
If you’re feeling puzzled, that’s understandable. I’m in the same boat. You might be thinking, “Isn’t this the same woman who expressed disdain for parenting? The one who’d rather be exploring Paris than making difficult daily decisions for a child? Didn’t she voice her hesitations about having a Black son?” Yes, that’s me—the one who often tells young women that if they can avoid motherhood, they should, but if they feel compelled, they should wait as long as possible. Yet, when faced with the notion of possibly being pregnant, I felt a spark of excitement, a longing for a redo of that “new mommy magic” I had missed the first time around.
But there would be no spark. No new mommy magic. Because I wasn’t expecting a child.
Logically, I should have been ecstatic. My life could unfold uninterrupted by the cries of a newborn yearning for its mother. My career could flourish without the interruptions of a toddler wanting to play peek-a-boo for the umpteenth time. My sleep would remain undisturbed, and my husband and I could continue to enjoy our intimacy without concern. Most importantly, I had successfully avoided the challenge of raising a second child with special needs—a significant relief.
However, instead of feeling like I had dodged a bullet, it felt as though the bullet had struck me, painfully. It pierced through my hopes and lodged itself deep within my heart. I didn’t realize I wanted another child until I confronted the absence of that possibility.
I wouldn’t get to curl soft, reddish-brown curls around my fingers. There would be no daily counting of delightful freckles on an impossibly small nose. I wouldn’t gaze into those long-lashed eyes, watching them flutter closed as my baby drifted into sleep in my arms. Charlotte Ann would never meet her older sister. And Solomon would not get to know his siblings. I wouldn’t revel in the joy of having created a beautiful life with a partner who embodies everything and more.
Despite the decision we made long ago to prevent this from happening, I should have been thrilled at the outcome. Instead, I felt weighed down by a burden I hadn’t expected to carry.
I didn’t know I wanted another baby, until the reality of not having one settled in.
For those considering their own family planning journeys, you might find valuable insights at Intracervical Insemination, which discusses various options available for those exploring home insemination. Another great resource is March of Dimes, which offers excellent guidance on fertility treatments. If you’re looking for comprehensive kits for at-home insemination, Make a Mom provides a reliable selection.
In summary, navigating the feelings of longing and loss after realizing that motherhood is not on the horizon can be complex and difficult. It’s essential to acknowledge those emotions and explore the options available for those who still wish to pursue parenthood.