At this point in my life, the news of someone else’s pregnancy can feel like a sharp pang in my heart. The images of newborns on social media—those tiny, squishy faces peering curiously at the world—hit me hard. I scroll past baby shower invitations as if they were never delivered, and I can’t help but envy the expectant mothers I encounter. I want to pull them aside and say, “You have no idea how precious this time is. Cherish every moment.”
The reality is that my youngest child is now three, and expanding our family isn’t an option for us right now. We have our reasons—valid, well-considered medical reasons that mean we won’t have more biological children. I remember the moment when I tucked our youngest into bed for the first time, whispering to my partner, “Promise me this isn’t the last one.” He did, yet here we are, feeling as though our family is incomplete.
I adore my older children. My 7-year-old is beginning to grasp complex concepts like injustice, and my 5-year-old is a joyful spirit who enjoys playing with both his brothers. And then there’s my 3-year-old, the baby of the family, who still insists he’s “tiny” and wants nothing more than to snuggle and nurse to sleep. My heart swells with love for them; they each bring their own unique joy to my life.
Now, we have a newfound freedom. We can enjoy date nights, art gallery openings, and even overnight getaways without the worry of a crying child. They’re growing up and becoming independent. I’ve long retired the cloth diapers and can drive for hours without a single tear. While I appreciate this freedom, it pales in comparison to the sweet smell of a baby’s neck or the bliss of carrying a newborn close to my chest. I find myself yearning for those days again, missing the quiet moments spent nursing and the soft feel of cute baby carriers that now sit unused.
Sometimes, I feel a surge of anger when I hear that someone else is expecting. I think, why them and not me? It frustrates me that we made the choice to stop expanding our family, even if it was the right decision. Deep down, I struggle with feelings of inadequacy, wishing I could convince myself that my desire for another child should guarantee its arrival.
I understand that sharing these thoughts may ruffle some feathers, but I know I’m not alone in this longing. Many mothers feel the ache of wanting more. We all have our own vision for what our families should look like. For my husband and me, it was always five or six children. That dream now feels shattered, leaving a lingering sense of sadness over what could have been.
We’ve decided to explore adoption, but it doesn’t feel as certain as carrying a baby. The adoption process involves endless paperwork and assessments, each answer feeling like a test we must pass. The uncertainty can be disheartening, and I won’t believe it until I see a nursery filled with baby things.
Until then, I will carry this ache, this desire that flares up whenever I see pregnancy announcements or baby photos. People often tell me to be grateful for the children I have, and I am. But that doesn’t negate my feelings about what I wish my family could be. Only I can define my family, and I feel it should include at least one more child.
If you’re navigating a similar journey, consider reading about our experiences with couples’ fertility journeys. There are resources available, such as this guide on what to expect with your first IUI, which can offer support and insights. And for those looking to announce their pregnancy, sites like this one on planning ideal announcement photos can provide valuable tips.
In summary, the longing for another baby can be a painful journey, filled with feelings of envy and frustration. While I cherish my current children, the desire for an expanded family remains strong. Exploring adoption offers hope, but the uncertainty keeps the ache alive.