“Mommy, are you going to have another baby?”
“Mommy, why is there an empty seat in the car?”
“If I had a baby brother, I would be the best big sister!”
“Mommy, look, I’m going to be a big sister!”
“Why does she have a baby sister, but I don’t?”
“Mommy, when I go to sleep, you and Daddy can make a baby.”
“Daddy, did you plant a seed in Mommy’s belly button so she could grow me?”
“When I grow up, I’m going to have a whole bunch of kids!”
Every day, my adorable 3-year-old daughter inundates me with questions and wishes for a sibling. If it’s not her, it’s my husband, who gazes at me with hopeful eyes, wanting to share the joy of parenthood again. Then there’s the societal expectation—choosing to have just one child seems to carry a stigma that feels almost unbearable. I grapple with the anxiety of letting down my daughter, husband, and extended family members, along with the fear of not living up to the ideals of the “Perfect Mother” who can, will, and desires to handle it all.
This internal struggle is compounded by the uncertainty of my ability to conceive. After more than a year and a half of trying and some inconclusive medical tests, I’m still left wondering if I can even get pregnant again.
A year ago, I was eager for a second child. I was spending money on ovulation kits and pregnancy tests, longing for the sight of pregnant women and newborns. I envisioned our family growing, each member playing a unique role. However, after months of trying without success, my excitement began to shift. We took a more aggressive approach, tracking fertility signs and consulting specialists, but to no avail. My initial hope turned into frustration and eventually morphed into indifference.
Now, the atmosphere at home has changed significantly. I’ve become adamant about using protection, and I breathe a sigh of relief every time my period arrives. My husband and I have even sought couples therapy to work through our differing views on family planning. He yearns for another child, believing it would enrich our daughter’s life and bring back the happiness we felt with our first baby. But for me, the thought of parenting another child feels overwhelming. I vividly remember the exhaustion of my first trimester, the challenges of labor, and the chaos of sleepless nights.
My husband argues that it’s only temporary and that the joy of a tight-knit family will outweigh the hardships. But reconciling my change of heart is not straightforward, and explaining it to anyone else feels daunting. My first pregnancy went smoothly, and I experienced a sense of “postpartum elation” that filled my life with joy. My husband was an incredible partner, sharing responsibilities and joyfully caring for our daughter. Yet, despite all of this, I no longer feel a deep yearning for another child.
I find contentment in our current family dynamic. Our daughter is at an age where we can enjoy activities together again—hiking, biking, and traveling. With her spending time with her grandparents, my husband and I have opportunities to reconnect as a couple. I feel like I’ve reclaimed my body and my freedom.
Some friends gently ask if my change of heart stems from our struggles with fertility. I can’t say for sure, but I know I’m not interested in going through pregnancy and the challenges of infancy again.
The feeling of isolation as someone who is “indifferently infertile” is profound. Most of my close friends have already welcomed their second or even third child. I don’t quite fit into any specific category:
- One and Done: I have a friend who has made a firm decision to have only one child. She represents the “one and done” group, often citing the challenges of pregnancy and early motherhood as reasons for not wanting more.
- Trying to Conceive (TTC): I cannot relate to the TTC community since I’m not actively pursuing treatments like IUI or IVF. I’m not measuring my fertility or experiencing the heartbreak of monthly disappointments.
- Dual Income No Kids (DINK): While I appreciate some sentiments from those who choose to remain childless, I identify strongly with my role as a mother. I would feel incomplete without my daughter.
I believe I’m not alone in feeling conflicted about whether to have another child, especially in light of fertility challenges. Perhaps I should start a support group called “Infertile and Indifferent,” where members have had healthy first pregnancies, positive motherhood experiences, and now find themselves uncertain about expanding their families.
I often remind myself that I support all variations of family dynamics, from single-parent households to multigenerational families. Yet, I remain skeptical about my own change of heart. If my desires have shifted once, who’s to say they won’t change again? My husband, too, seems uncertain, likely thinking this is just a phase.
The decision to grow our family is significant and emotional, fraught with uncertainty. It feels like there’s a lot at stake—whether we try for another child or not, it’s a permanent choice with no going back. Time is also a factor; we can’t wait indefinitely. Regardless of the outcome, there’s potential for regret: to have or not to have, to try or not to try.
If you’re interested in exploring home insemination options, check out Home Insemination Kit for more information. You can also visit Make A Mom for comprehensive resources on the topic. For further guidance, ASRM is an excellent resource for pregnancy and home insemination.
Summary
The journey toward deciding whether to have a second child can be filled with conflicting emotions, especially when faced with fertility challenges. From societal pressures to personal aspirations, the choice is complex and deeply personal. Embracing one’s current family dynamics while navigating these feelings can lead to a sense of contentment, even amid uncertainty.