Oh, how I long to have you in my life. Many women dream of motherhood, but my desire to welcome you is particularly profound. I yearn to feel your gentle movements within me, to experience the overwhelming joy of having you placed on my chest—new, loud, and full of life. I can almost smell your sweet, soft hair and the delightful scent of your baby skin. I want to carry you close to my heart and witness the wonder in your brothers’ eyes as they discover you, creating silly nicknames and begging to hold you. The longing for you is deep and real, little one.
It aches in my very bones, especially as I see friends announcing their pregnancies, knowing that if I were to conceive now, you would share a close bond with your brothers, just two years apart like each of them. My heart yearns for the certainty of your presence, the knowledge of you growing inside me.
But for now, it’s not the right time. I have reasons—well-considered ones—that can be summed up simply: one day, but not today. I recognize that my longing for you pales in comparison to the struggles of those facing infertility. Many wish for a child and are unable to have one. For us, the possibility exists, but we’ve chosen to wait. This choice brings its own pain, a bittersweet ache of missed potential. We could have you here with us, yet we don’t, and each day we make this decision, we feel your absence.
This missing you is genuine and profound. It’s not merely a fleeting whim or a result of hormones. I know that some may judge me, thinking I’m being selfish for yearning for your newborn days. They don’t grasp that I miss the unique potential that you represent. We desire you in your entirety—not just as a baby, but as a child, an adult, and as a cherished member of our family. We feel complete, yet there’s an undeniable sense of incompleteness, a feeling of being whole but not fully finished.
I know I should feel grateful for what I have, and I truly do cherish your brothers. Their love fills my heart, yet I know there’s space for more love. My mind whispers, “Not yet,” while my heart cries, “Now, now, now.”
As I listen to friends share their joyful news, I’ll feel the pang of missing you. As the year passes, marking the months when I knew I was pregnant with your brothers, I’ll wish to hold you close. While friends exchange stories about their birthing plans, I’ll think of you fondly. And when the seasons shift, and I imagine my belly growing round with you, the ache will linger.
One day, little one, I believe I won’t feel this longing anymore. One day, I hope to hold you in my arms. But for now, we wait.
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In summary, the desire for another child is a complex blend of joy and heartache. While the longing is profound, the decision to wait brings its own set of challenges. Yet, the hope remains for a future filled with the love of another little one.