Hey there, friend! So, let’s chat about something that’s been on my mind recently: that strange emptiness that creeps in when you decide you’re done having kids. For me, this moment came on a chilly day in October 2013 when my partner, Matt, decided to get a vasectomy. We never intended to have kids initially, but life had other plans, and suddenly, we found ourselves with two little ones born less than a year apart. It felt like the right choice to take measures to prevent any more surprises.
But I wasn’t prepared for what I like to call “the void.”
Now, the void isn’t just an empty space; it’s a mix of emotions and thoughts. It’s where my lingering wish for another child resides. You might be thinking, “But didn’t you say you didn’t want more kids?” And you’re right! I didn’t. I don’t. But there’s something so odd about realizing that my body, which has already brought two amazing humans into the world, will never go through that experience again. Those parts of me that were designed for creating life are now just… well, hanging out without purpose.
Sure, I can confidently say that I don’t want more kids now. But right after Matt’s surgery, I had my doubts. We were told to use backup birth control until we were sure he was sterile, and I found myself wondering if we should just leave things up to fate. I read countless stories about “surprises” after vasectomies and even started tracking my ovulation, secretly hoping for a little miracle—a girl, and I had even picked the name Lily Joy. But alas, Lily never arrived, and it took me a while to accept that reality.
Despite this longing, I have no regrets. I adore my little family just as it is. Still, the void has a way of making me ache for those experiences I’ll never have again—the contractions, the joy of holding a newborn, and the thrill of watching them reach their milestones. Each time I hold a friend’s baby, the void grows a little larger. I’ll quietly miss those early days when my kids needed me for everything, even when it felt overwhelming.
In a few months, a dear friend of mine will welcome her third child, and I’m excited to hear all about her journey. I know I’ll feel a twinge of jealousy when she snuggles her newborn while I head back to my own home. I love my two kids—they’re clever and hilarious—but I’ve come to understand that the void is a part of my story. It’s a reminder of the paths I’ve taken and the choices I’ve made. It makes me laugh at my younger self for thinking I’d never want kids at all.
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In summary, the void after deciding not to have more children can bring about unexpected emotions. While I cherish my family as it is, I acknowledge that longing for experiences I will never have again. It’s a complex mix of acceptance and sadness, but ultimately, it’s a part of my journey.