Recently, I found myself going through the daily grind, managing all the usual tasks while hosting my in-laws from abroad, which turned our routine into a delightful chaos. It suddenly struck me that I hadn’t had my period. Was I actually late? Oh wait, I don’t think it was due yet. Since my husband’s vasectomy (which I attended because I can’t resist a good spectacle) and my decision to stop taking the pill, I had been rather lax about tracking things. In fact, for the past couple of years, at least one night a month, I have woken up to find my period had made an unexpected appearance in our bed. Seriously, how mature am I? I’ll let you take a moment to roll your eyes (and rightfully so).
A few days later, I started to feel a bit anxious. I was definitely late. I think I felt some cramps about a week back, but they had come and gone. Instead of just heading to the store for a pregnancy test, I opted to Google “pregnancy after vasectomy.” Yikes! Did you know that in some rare cases, a man’s tubes can reconnect years after a vasectomy, making him fertile once again? Suddenly, I recalled my mother telling me about chickens that would wander around after their heads were chopped off, and I thought, “But my husband’s head was figuratively cut off two years ago!” This can’t be happening.
As luck would have it, I got my period on the way to the store to buy a test. No joke. In the car.
Fast forward a week. I was traveling for work when I encountered a charming new mother, her baby snugly secured in a sling, gently rocking him while planting kisses on his forehead. I barely made it onto the plane before I burst into tears. Pull yourself together, I told myself. You didn’t even want another child. You already have three wonderful kids—how selfish can you be? Think of all the women who yearn for just one child and can’t have any.
Yet, the thought of adding another child had started to seep back into my mind. Although it was a fleeting notion, the door I thought I had firmly closed had opened just a crack.
Once a woman ties the knot, the questions come swiftly: “Are you planning to have kids?” After a while, it morphs into, “When are you starting a family?” And then you have a child, and before you can catch your breath, someone asks, “When will you give that little one a sibling?” The inquiries about what, when, and how many children to have seem to be fair game for casual chit-chat. Women often face harsh judgment based on their responses. If you admit you don’t want kids, you’re labeled selfish. Have the socially acceptable two or three kids, and it’s all rainbows and unicorns. But have too many (between four and twenty), and watch as brows furrow in judgment. I once heard someone ask a friend with five kids, “Why on earth did you have so many?” Like that’s a helpful comment! I’m sure she went home contemplating which of the five to return.
Eventually, a day arrives, whether by choice or circumstance, when there will be no more babies. While we may be done expecting, perhaps we never truly move past the anticipation that comes with the prospect of a new child. All the hope, worry, love, and excitement a new life brings—perhaps that’s what caused my tears. It took me a full two years and a scare to finally mourn the end of an era. I feel incredibly fortunate that it was a choice I could make, and I would choose the same path again. However, the thought of another child, even if only temporarily, filled me with gratitude for what I have. And maybe with three kids, two working parents, and countless daily distractions, that’s exactly what I needed.
Oh, and a calendar to track my periods because really, how messy can one person be?
For more on home insemination, check out this post on intracervical insemination. If you’re considering taking steps toward parenthood, Make a Mom is a great resource for an at-home insemination kit. Also, for in-depth information on fertility, listen to this excellent podcast from the Cleveland Clinic.
In summary, while my journey through parenthood has had its ups and downs, the experience has been enriching. It’s a reminder that even when the door closes on the prospect of new life, the joy and gratitude for what we have can remain ever-present.