I hadn’t seen my close friend, Zoe, in about a month, and when I finally caught up with her, I noticed something was different. Maybe it was the way she carried herself, or perhaps she had started a new fitness routine. Her figure seemed fuller, and her complexion appeared healthier. I wondered whether she had taken up running or perhaps weightlifting. But when she mentioned she couldn’t take my kids outside due to the pollen, I felt a flicker of concern.
“Can you watch the kids next week?” I asked. “We have a doctor’s appointment on Tuesday.”
“I’m not sure,” she replied, a goofy grin spreading across her face. “It depends on the ultrasound.”
In that moment, I knew.
I rushed over and enveloped her in a huge hug. We had always joked about her and her partner, also a good friend of ours, starting a family. They had sworn they were a pet-only household, with Zoe even claiming she had my children to care for so she didn’t need any of her own. Like many, she feared that she would mess up any future kids. And yet, here she was, radiating that unmistakable pregnancy glow. I was genuinely happy for her.
But as I embraced her and felt tears of joy welling up in my eyes, I also felt a rush of envy. The longing for another biological child surged within me. After a challenging pregnancy with my youngest, now three, I had held him close and begged my husband for more children. I had always envisioned a big family—six or seven kids—but my last experience left me terrified.
I had dealt with hyperemesis and severe gestational diabetes, and my mental health had plummeted with each pregnancy. Not long after my last baby was born, I entered outpatient treatment for my depression and anxiety. Now, I’m on a cocktail of medications that are barely compatible with breastfeeding, let alone getting pregnant again. My psychiatrist has advised against another pregnancy, as my mental well-being seemed to suffer every time I gave birth. When I mentioned that we were looking into adoption, she said it was the best choice for me.
So, here I am—no more pregnancies, no more ultrasounds, no more births, and no more chances to experience those unforgettable moments of bringing a newborn into the world. I won’t nurse another baby, and my three-year-old will be my last. I hold him close at night during our final nursing sessions, trying not to think about the day he will be weaned. It’s a heart-wrenching thought.
And then there’s Zoe, excitedly talking about how she isn’t even sure how far along she is. She expresses gratitude for having us in her corner as she navigates the journey of becoming a first-time mom. “I need your help with wrapping and breastfeeding!” she exclaims. I’m genuinely happy to step into the role of Auntie and feel a sense of purpose in supporting her. I know I can hold both my joy for her and my deep sadness for myself at the same time.
I shared my feelings with my psychiatrist, who nodded and said, “The human heart is an amazing thing.” In my excitement, I promised Zoe all of our baby gear—cloth diapers, clothes, a co-sleeper, and a baby carrier. And I truly meant it.
“Except for the changing table,” I added. “We’ll need it for the foster/adopted baby eventually.” That changing table is a symbol of hope for me, a reminder that one day, a baby will come into our home. I secretly hope Zoe’s baby is a boy, so he can wear all my boys’ clothes that I’ve saved. It would bring me joy to see and go through them together. I’m eager to help her with everything—wrapping him close, nursing, and even buying her a Boppy pillow. I’ll crochet tiny clothes for him and think of him as my nephew, loving him as such.
This unexpected gift feels like a miracle, and I’m thrilled to support her. Maybe this baby can help heal some of my anger—the anger at my own body for making pregnancy so difficult, and the frustration at my mind for complicating things further. Perhaps this timing is perfect—for Zoe, for the universe, and even for me.
For those exploring their own path to parenthood, consider checking out the impregnator at home insemination kit. Additionally, resources like Intracervical Insemination provide valuable insights on this topic, and the Cleveland Clinic’s podcast is an excellent resource for those interested in pregnancy and home insemination.
In summary, while I celebrate Zoe’s journey into motherhood, I grapple with my own feelings of loss and longing. It’s a complex mix of joy and sorrow, but I’m committed to being there for her.