Menu: Parenting
When Do You Know For Certain You Are Done Having Children?
Throughout my pregnancy with my son Max, my partner Jason made it abundantly clear that two children were sufficient for our family. He was thrilled with our two boys and believed we were complete as a family of four. I, on the other hand, wasn’t so sure.
After Max arrived, on the night of his birth, once the hospital had emptied out and it was just the two of us, I cradled him close and whispered, “You are not my last baby.” In that moment, my heart was certain that I wasn’t ready to stop. As my boys, Max and Liam, grew and began to bond, I still felt something was missing. There was an empty space in our family photos that seemed to be waiting to be filled.
Since childhood, I had envisioned having all boys—specifically, four wonderful sons who would grow tall and loving, showering their mother with affection. The presence of a husband in my dreams was always vague, but the image of four boys was crystal clear.
Then came Zoe, and she was not a boy. I felt a whirlwind of confusion. I had two boys and was convinced I was destined to have another. Jason and I debated whether we would stop at Zoe, but I couldn’t shake my uncertainty. Perhaps I still craved that elusive fourth child, even if my dream family didn’t turn out to be all boys.
To complicate matters further, my pregnancy with Zoe was particularly challenging. Each pregnancy had progressively taken a toll on my body, and I found myself questioning whether I could endure another (which would actually be my sixth) pregnancy. Somewhere between discovering Zoe’s gender and enduring the discomfort of 39 weeks, we reached a solid 98 percent certainty that we wouldn’t be adding more children to our family. It wasn’t because Zoe was a girl, but because my body seemed to be sending me loud signals that it couldn’t handle another round of pregnancy.
When Zoe was finally placed in my arms, I felt an overwhelming sense of completeness. The missing piece of our family puzzle had been filled by a daughter I hadn’t realized I wanted—or needed. Three children felt just right.
Both Jason and I are completely at peace with our decision. We are sure. We have made our choice, and we’re content. Yet…
Last Friday, our finality became official when Jason had a brief visit to the doctor. In the days leading up to the visit, I experienced a mix of emotions. It wasn’t about wanting to be pregnant again or desiring more kids—I felt confident in being done with that phase. We are now a family of five.
However, there was a subtle shift happening inside me.
Last Monday, Zoe and I went grocery shopping together. As I was getting her out of her car seat and strapping her into the wrap, an old friend from high school approached to congratulate me on the baby. She had seen her pictures online and thought Zoe was adorable. I always appreciate when someone stops to admire my little ones, and as we strolled through the store with our shopping list, I felt happy.
But while browsing the baby aisle for diapers and formula, I found myself reflecting on my friend’s children—all of whom were older than Liam, who will soon be six. I thought about many of my high school peers who had kids much older than mine, with one friend even celebrating her son’s upcoming wedding and another who is already a grandmother.
As I inhaled the sweet scent of baby hair with Zoe nestled against my chest, I felt a wave of nostalgia. For the first time in my life, I felt old.
Birthdays had never really impacted me before. My age was just a number and had never dictated how I felt about myself. When I got married at 27, I felt youthful and excited, even joking with my best friend about how “grown-up” it felt. When I welcomed Liam at 31, I never thought about being in my thirties but rather felt like a new, vibrant mom.
Now, everything feels different. I’m no longer a newlywed; we’re about to celebrate a decade together. I’m no longer a novice mom; Zoe is my third child. My childbearing years are officially over now that Jason has taken that step.
We’ve entered a new chapter in our lives. Jason likes to use soccer metaphors to describe our family planning; we’ve transitioned from “playing for real” to being part of an “alumni league” where the score doesn’t matter anymore.
This change has hit me harder than anticipated. Not because I yearn for more children, but because the baby years are officially behind us. We are finished.
At the same time, we are on the brink of something new—the exciting years of growing up. These are the moments that will shape our family memories.
Reflecting on my childhood, I remember that the years following my youngest brother’s arrival were rich with family memories. That’s where we stand now, at the threshold of creating lasting memories that my children will cherish.
Yet, there’s a sense of loss I’m grappling with—the end of my childbearing years and the thrill of anticipating who might join our family next.
But here we are, all together. We’ve reached our conclusion, and we’re ready to embark on this new journey.