I am absolutely convinced that I’m done expanding my family. Most of the time, anyway.
The original plan was to have two kids, and we’ve been fortunate enough to welcome two wonderful boys into our lives. I adore them completely; there are moments when I wish I could pause their growth and keep them little forever. However, I also appreciate the benefits that come with having older children. My younger son is nearly three, and this summer he’s finally been able to join in on some of the fun activities meant for bigger kids. We’ve gone to the movies a few times, shared jokes, and even enjoyed biking around the neighborhood together. The boys do get along well (when they’re not bickering), and there are times when my husband and I can actually have uninterrupted conversations.
I look forward to the freedom I envision when my youngest starts full-day kindergarten. Since my first son was born over eight years ago, my work has been sporadic at best. While I enjoy my job, I deeply value my quiet time and moments alone (just a peaceful car ride to work without kids would feel like a luxury). Plus, our family could really use the extra income. Continuing to work less for a few more years doesn’t seem realistic, nor does the idea of caring for another child or funding their future education.
Most days, I am fully on board with this plan. I’m a planner at heart, and I prefer to stick to a set course.
But then there are moments that challenge my certainty.
One Saturday morning, we woke up to find our younger son snuggled between my husband and me. As we gazed down at his sleepy eyes and tousled hair, I felt the warmth of his little body against mine. It struck me how perfectly his head fit in the curve of my neck. I inhaled deeply, catching his scent—a mix of yesterday’s sunscreen, baby shampoo, and that unique smell that simply can’t be bottled.
Meanwhile, my older son was already awake, independent as he turned on the TV and settled in. I could see how quickly my little one would grow into that big boy—the one who would need us less, who would soon be uninterested in morning snuggles, and whose head wouldn’t fit in the nape of my neck anymore.
A few minutes later, I opened social media and came across a friend’s pregnancy announcement, complete with a photo of her positive pregnancy test showing those unmistakable two lines. It hit me like a ton of bricks: I would never experience pregnancy again, nor would I have the joy of newborns or toddlers. But that’s the plan, I reminded myself. The plan is to step away from all of that.
In that moment, I felt a pang in my heart. I understood this reality, but it rarely hits me so hard, so suddenly.
For a few hours, I wrestled with my feelings, crunching numbers and wondering how old I’d be when my second child went off to kindergarten (forty) and if I could even imagine having another baby before then (definitely not).
Later that afternoon, I embarked on a decluttering mission around the house. After tossing out broken items and outdated menus, I found myself in my older son’s room, sifting through a pile of books. I came across a board book that both boys had cherished as babies. It’s called First Words, featuring bright, simple photos of everyday objects. Among all the similar books, this one was their favorite, even though it was worn and held together with packing tape.
When my older son was small, I saved his belongings for a potential future child (which I still do, as our younger son enjoys hand-me-downs). But when I held that book, I realized it was time to let go. I took a picture of it and placed it in the discard pile.
Just hours earlier, I had been considering the idea of having another baby, but that urge had vanished. I was finished with that chapter.
In truth, my desire for more children often comes and goes—it’s there at times but fleeting. When I truly want something, I struggle to let it go, which tells me that my longing for another child isn’t as strong as I thought.
Still, I couldn’t bring myself to toss the book away entirely. Instead, I added it to a collection of keepsakes, ready to be revisited someday—perhaps when our boys have children of their own… or if, say, my fortieth birthday approaches and those fleeting cravings resurface.
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In summary, while I feel confident in my decision to not have more children, there are moments that challenge this certainty. My experiences with my boys remind me of the joys and challenges of parenthood, and I often find myself contemplating the future.