I find myself in a place where seeing pregnancy announcements causes me actual pain. Even more challenging are the baby pictures that flood my social media feed: those adorable, squishy little faces gazing out at the world for the first time. I cringe at bump photos and do my best to ignore baby shower invitations that land in my mailbox. I feel a pang of envy towards the expectant mothers I encounter daily, longing to whisper to them, “You have no idea how precious this time is. Cherish every moment.”
You see, my youngest is now three years old, and the prospect of adding to our family is no longer on the table.
There are legitimate reasons behind this decision. Practical, medically sound reasons that mark the end of our biological family. I remember the moment I tucked our youngest into bed for the first time and turning to my husband, saying, “Promise me he won’t be the last.” He promised, but here we are, feeling like our family is incomplete.
I adore my two older children. My seven-year-old can read and delve into discussions about the Revolutionary War; my five-year-old is a joyful spirit who bonds with his brothers and still seeks cuddles at night. And then there’s my three-year-old, still calling out, “Me tiny!” while wanting nothing more than Play-Doh and his nighttime nursing sessions with me. I cherish my kids—they each bring their own joy and laughter into our lives.
Now that they’re older, we can occasionally leave them for a nice dinner, an art gala, or a friend’s poetry reading. I can even manage a three-hour drive without the fear of a meltdown. They’re all eating real meals, and I’ve long since folded away the cloth diapers. This newfound freedom is wonderful, but it pales in comparison to the intoxicating scent of a baby’s neck. When my children were small, we could simply bundle them up and go anywhere. Now, I catch myself yearning for the things about babies that we often find inconvenient.
I miss nursing—those quiet moments on the couch that transport you into a world of baby time. I reminisce about the charming cloth diapers and the baby carriers that now gather dust, waiting for a baby that may never arrive. Yes, I occasionally carry my three-year-old, but it’s brief and not quite the same.
Sometimes, frustration wells up inside me. I hear about others welcoming new babies and can’t help but wonder, “Why them and not me?” It angers me that we’ve been put in this position, that our decision, though the right one for our family, feels so final. In my heart, I think I would cherish a new baby more than others might, that my desire should somehow warrant a child.
I’m aware that sharing these feelings may ruffle some feathers or elicit judgment, but I know I’m not alone in this longing. The heart has its own desires, and when those desires go unfulfilled, it’s easy for the mind to spiral.
We all envision our ideal family. Some aim for a boy and a girl, while others dream of two or three children. I always imagined having five or six kids. My partner and I agreed on that number because we thrive in the chaos of family life. Now, that dream feels shattered. Picture your own family vision, and then imagine it abruptly ending. It’s a painful place to be.
We’ve decided to explore adoption, but it doesn’t carry the same certainty as carrying a baby. Sure, there are no guarantees with a biological child either, but the paperwork and assessments for adoption feel like an endless series of tests. Each question is a chance to falter, to prove we might not be suitable. The adoption journey can feel overwhelming.
Perhaps one day, a baby will come into our lives. Until that nursery is filled, I carry this ache, this unfulfilled desire that sharpens with every pregnancy announcement, every newborn photo, every round belly I see. Some might urge me to be grateful for my boys (and I truly am), or quote the Rolling Stones about not always getting what you want. But those sentiments only serve to diminish my feelings. I alone define what my family should look like.
And in my heart, I know it should include at least one more baby.
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In summary, the desire for another child can be an overwhelming feeling when circumstances dictate otherwise. The journey may lead to alternative paths like adoption, but the longing remains palpable. It’s essential to acknowledge these feelings without shame, as they are valid and real.
Keyphrase: longing for another baby
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