I’m (Almost) Sure I’m Finished Having Kids

home insemination Kit

I’m pretty convinced I’m done having kids. Most of the time, anyway. The plan was always to have two children, and I’ve been fortunate enough to have two wonderful boys. I adore them, and sometimes I wish I could pause time just to hold onto their little selves a bit longer. But, I also appreciate the benefits of having older kids. My youngest is nearly 3 now, and this summer, he’s finally able to join in on some of the bigger kid activities. We’ve gone to the movies together a few times, shared jokes, and even biked down the street side by side. The boys play well together (when they’re not bickering), and my husband and I can often have entire conversations without being interrupted.

I find myself dreaming about the freedom that will come when my youngest starts full-day kindergarten. Since my first son was born over eight years ago, I’ve only worked sporadically. I genuinely enjoy my job, and I treasure quiet moments alone (even a solo car ride to work would be bliss). Plus, let’s face it, our family could really use the extra income. The thought of working less for a few more years, not to mention supporting another child through college, just doesn’t seem practical.

Usually, I’m all in with this plan. I’m a planner, and the idea of changing the plan doesn’t sit well with me. But then there are moments of doubt.

One Saturday, we woke up with our youngest snuggled between us. My husband and I looked down at his sleepy eyes and tousled hair. When he rolled into me, I noticed how perfectly his little head nestled in the crook of my neck. I breathed in his scent—hints of yesterday’s sunscreen mixed with baby shampoo and that unmistakable essence that can’t be bottled.

Meanwhile, my older son was already up, independent as ever. He hops out of bed, turns on the TV, and waits for us to join him in the den. I know how quickly my little guy will grow into that big kid—the one who won’t need our cuddles anymore and whose head won’t fit in my neck like it does now.

A few minutes later, I opened Facebook and saw a friend’s pregnancy announcement, complete with a photo of her test showing those two pink lines. My heart sank. I thought, I’ll never experience pregnancy again. I won’t have any of those moments again. But that’s the plan, right? To move on from all of that—pregnancy, newborns, and toddlers—forever.

Honestly, it felt like a punch to the gut. I knew it in my head, but it hit me all at once. For a couple of hours, I mulled it over, crunching numbers in my budget, calculating how old I’d be when my youngest starts kindergarten (40!), and wondering if I could even imagine having another baby anytime soon (nope).

That afternoon, I dove into decluttering the house. After tossing out broken items and menus from long-gone restaurants, I wandered into my older son’s room. I sifted through a pile of books on the floor and came across a board book that both my kids had adored—First Words. It’s filled with bright pictures of things like dogs, cats, and balls. Out of all the books, this one was their favorite, its pages worn and tattered, held together with tape.

When my older son was small, I saved all his things for the next child (and I still do—my youngest is decked out in hand-me-downs). But when I saw that book, I realized it was time to let go. I snapped a picture and moved it to the garbage pile.

Just hours earlier, I had been seriously considering the idea of having another baby, but that feeling evaporated. I was done with that baby book for good.

In fact, my longing for more children often feels like that—there one minute, gone the next. When I truly desire something, I struggle to let it go, which tells me I don’t want another child with that kind of intensity. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to throw the book away completely. I tucked it away with my keepsakes, just in case my kids have kids one day… or if I find myself hit with those feelings again as I approach my 40th birthday in two years.

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In summary, while I’m mostly certain I’m done having children, there are moments that tug at my heartstrings and make me reconsider. It’s a complex mix of emotions—love for my boys, a desire for freedom, and a touch of nostalgia for what once was.