I Thought I Wanted Another Baby

I welcomed my youngest child when I was 26. Now, with a son and a daughter, my husband and I decided we were done expanding our family. When I say “we,” I really mean my husband. He’s an only child and always envisioned having just two kids. I, on the other hand, grew up as the middle child and had always dreamed of being a mom to three. But we were in our mid-20s and had a thirst for adventure and travel—definitely not something we could do with a bunch of little ones in tow. Plus, we’d be 42 (yikes!) by the time our daughter started high school. Reluctantly, I agreed. Turning 30 was just around the corner, and who wants to have a baby at that age, right?

Then I hit 30, and my biological clock went into hyperdrive. My youngest was off to preschool, and I found myself longing for the days of having a baby in the house. Everywhere I looked, friends in their 30s were announcing their pregnancies, and they weren’t fretting over being “advanced maternal age” or potentially being 50 when their kids graduated high school.

I started to subtly suggest to my husband, “What about one more baby?” “We’re still relatively young!” “Just look at how adorable they are!” When that didn’t budge him, I began to plead. “I need this! My heart feels a bit empty,” and my favorite, “I never got to take maternity photos!” Eventually, he caved (or maybe I just wore him down): we would try for one more baby. There was a catch, though: I had to conceive within a year. If it didn’t happen in 12 months, we’d stop trying. It was settled.

Having taken a few months to conceive our first two, I knew I needed to be proactive. I bought ovulation kits and pregnancy tests. I even signed up for an online fertility tracker to chart my basal body temperature, cycles, and other lovely fertility signs like “egg white cervical mucus.” I even ordered a magical sperm-friendly lubricant that was supposed to help things along. Sound odd? I didn’t care—this was going to happen!

But then it didn’t.

Month 1:

The week I thought would be perfect for trying (I never quite mastered that fertility tracker) left me terrified. What if it happened right away? Could I handle 16 weeks of morning sickness? We had a trip to Vegas planned in a few months. Okay, we’ll try next month.

Month 2:

The baby would be due around Christmas. Not ideal. Let’s push it to next month.

Month 3:

My second child arrived a month early. Let’s not risk a holiday baby. Next month sounds good.

Month 4:

Vegas! Drinks! Gambling! Drinks! Better safe than sorry. Next month it is.

Months 5, 6, and 7:

It’s summer! Cancun? Yes, please! I love margaritas and shellfish. Let’s wait until the kids are back in school.

Month 8:

Our youngest is in kindergarten. Do I really want to start over? Does my husband genuinely want another baby, or is he just agreeing to please me? What if I have another miscarriage like I did the first time? I already have two wonderful kids. Why am I asking for more? Will having another baby really satisfy this longing, or will I always crave just one more? I’m so conflicted. Maybe this isn’t the right time.

Month 9:

Let’s just get a dog.

In the end, I couldn’t go through with it. Despite the yearning in my heart for another baby, my hesitation was a clear sign that it might not be meant to be. I finally came to terms with the fact that I would likely always feel a bit incomplete. Perhaps all mothers experience this. Maybe those who have faced loss carry this feeling forever. Regardless, a new baby just wasn’t in the cards for us.

Now at 39, something remarkable has happened. For the first time since getting married, I don’t feel that intense longing for a new baby. Maybe it’s the endless energy from my new nieces and nephews, or perhaps my biological clock is simply winding down. Whatever the reason, I now look at my family and, for the first time, see us as complete.