Having my youngest child at 26 brought me immense joy, but as we settled into our family of four—a son and a daughter—my husband and I agreed we were done expanding our brood. When I say “we,” I primarily mean him. Coming from a family with just one sibling, he always envisioned having two children. As a middle child, I had always dreamed of being a mother to three. Yet, with our youthful wanderlust and the desire to travel the world, I reluctantly agreed to close the chapter on having more kids. After all, I’d be 30 soon, and who really wants to have a baby at that age?
Then I turned 30, and suddenly, my maternal instincts kicked into overdrive. With my youngest off to preschool, I found myself yearning for the warmth of a baby in the house again. Friends around me were announcing their pregnancies, unfazed by the notion of being “advanced maternal age.” I began to plant little suggestions in my husband’s mind: “How about one more baby?” “We’re still young!” “Just look at how adorable they are!” When subtle hints didn’t work, I resorted to pleading: “I need this! My heart feels incomplete!” and “I never got to take those maternity photos!” Eventually, he caved (or I wore him down) and we decided to try for one more child, with one condition: I had to conceive within a year. If it didn’t happen, we would stop trying.
Having taken time to conceive our first two, I knew I had to be proactive. I stocked up on ovulation tests and pregnancy kits, registered on a fertility tracking site to monitor my basal body temperature and cycles, and even ordered a special sperm-friendly lubricant that was supposed to help. Crazy? Perhaps, but I was determined!
But then reality hit.
Month 1:
I felt a wave of anxiety. What if I got pregnant right away? Could I handle 16 weeks of morning sickness? We had a Vegas trip planned in a couple of months. Let’s hold off.
Month 2:
A baby due around Christmas? No thanks. We’ll wait until next month.
Month 3:
My second child arrived a month early. Let’s avoid a Christmas baby. Next month sounds better.
Month 4:
Vegas! Drinks and gambling! I’d rather be safe. Let’s wait.
Months 5, 6, and 7:
Summer’s here! Cancun? Yes, please! Margaritas and shellfish await. I’ll try next month after the kids are back in school.
Month 8:
My youngest is in kindergarten. Do I really want to start over? Does my husband genuinely want another baby, or is he just going along with me? What if I suffer another miscarriage like I did before? I already have two wonderful kids—why am I pushing for more? Will another baby fill this void, or will I always long for just one more? I was conflicted. Maybe it’s not the right time.
Month 9:
Maybe we should just get a dog.
It became clear to me that, despite my lingering desire for another child, my hesitation was a sign that perhaps it wasn’t meant to be. I came to terms with the fact I might always feel this sense of incompleteness. Perhaps this is a common feeling among mothers, especially those who have experienced loss. Regardless, it became evident that adding a new baby to our family wasn’t in the cards.
Fast forward to now—I’m 39 and a remarkable shift has occurred. For the first time since getting married, I no longer feel that urge for a new baby. Maybe it’s the energy from my adorable nieces and nephews, or perhaps my biological clock is winding down. Whatever it is, I now see my family as complete.
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Summary
In my journey from longing for another child to finding contentment with my existing family, I’ve learned that sometimes we must accept our circumstances. While the desire for more can linger, it’s essential to recognize when it’s time to embrace the present.
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