My little one is obsessed with a hedgehog costume. He affectionately calls it his “animargus” and cuddles a stuffed hedgehog puppet in bed. Each morning, he wakes up with his tousled blonde hair, demanding blueberry muffins and Octonauts episodes. He playfully scolds our dogs before snuggling next to me on the couch, saying, “Me love you, Mama.” He’s nearly 4 years old and always will be my baby. Yet, I can’t have another.
The reality of being done having children brings a profound sadness, even when it’s the right choice. My oldest just recently expressed that he’s content with our family of five, and my middle son chimed in, “But there are only five of us!” My heart shattered again, knowing he too longs for another sibling. This internal conflict is common among mothers when the decision is made to close the chapter on expanding the family. We feel complete, yet not entirely finished.
Our desire was always for a large family—five or six children. However, due to the medications I need for my health, carrying another pregnancy is not feasible. The thought of enduring hyperemesis gravidarum again, which previously landed me in the hospital, is overwhelming. Thus, my uterus is officially closed for business.
Adoption is a possibility we are considering, but the ease of biological conception is now a distant dream due to health concerns. While my situation is personal, countless women have their own reasons for being done—financial constraints, traumatic medical experiences, cancer, genetic risks, or simply the choice to stop.
We are finished. Finished with baby clothes, carriers, and diaper changes. I no longer wish to endure sleepless nights from midnight to 4 a.m., rocking and praying for sleep to come. The gummy smiles and milestones, like first foods and first steps, will be memories I cherish forever.
There is something uniquely enchanting about babies—the way they curl against you, their scent, and the joyous laughter following their tiny gasps. The thought that I will never experience that again is almost unbearable.
As I grapple with this reality, the sadness lingers. I can’t bear to see pregnant women; their radiant glow is a stark reminder of the possibilities I can no longer pursue. A friend recently texted me with her pregnancy news after enduring multiple miscarriages. Instead of joy, I felt a wave of loss and broke down in tears. I even shut off my phone when she called later, feeling ashamed of my reaction.
This emotional turmoil is often accompanied by shame, particularly when we’re still grappling with our decision. We yearn for the baby we can’t have, uncertain about what the future holds. For so long, we envisioned a life filled with young children and their constant needs.
People often remind us to be grateful for the children we already have, as if this longing diminishes our love for them. This desire for another child is separate from the joy we feel for our existing kids. It’s akin to consuming three chocolates and still yearning for more. While we appreciate our current stages of parenting, they’re not the same as having a baby.
We cherished our children as infants, and that love has only deepened over time. We desire to nurture that bond again, to witness the transformations—lengthening limbs, flattened tummies, and the moment they master writing their first letters. The discarded doll in the stuffed animal bin tugs at my heart, reminding me of the love I wish to experience again.
For now, I’ll focus on my nearly-4-year-old. I’ll savor combing his golden hair and delight in his adorable language quirks. I will cherish my almost-6-year-old as he insists on holding my hand. And I’ll appreciate the way my 7-year-old tenderly picks up his baby brother, despite my warnings.
I will love them fiercely, all of them. And in quiet, private moments, I’ll weep for the children I will never have.
This article was originally published on November 26, 2017.
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Summary
This article explores the deep emotional struggle of a mother coming to terms with not having more children. It reflects on the bittersweet nature of parenting, the longing for the experiences of infancy, and the conflicting feelings of grief and gratitude for existing children. The longing for more children is portrayed as a separate yet profound part of the parenting journey, emphasizing the complexity of love and loss.