We’re Not Having Any More Children – Coping with the Finality

We have officially made the decision to not have any more biological children. I need to accept the reality and finality of not having any more kids, and try to look on the bright side. As is my way, I’m expressing my feelings through my raw writing. I hope that this finds someone someday and gives them closure, and I hope that it helps me too. Because I still haven’t come to terms fully with the fact that we will never have more children.

I’m officially 35 years old (hooooly geez) and if for no other reason, I need to make the call to not have any more kids for that. The risk of birth defects drastically increases by this age, and it gets riskier for the mother, too. So that’s Reason Number One.

Money is the other huge smirking justification. We are currently a four person family on one educator income in Texas (which sounds like the punchline to a pathetically unfunny joke), and while I know how to be frugal and use the basics when it comes to caring for a new baby, the fact is that we’re playing it pretty close as it is. It wouldn’t be fair for me to bring another life into this world – a life who is totally dependent on us – and not be able to confidently provide for them. So that’s another deal breaker.

As you can see, the logic is behind the decision to not having more children. And I get that. But that’s not really what this is about. It’s about the emotional break-up with the notion of having more children; it’s the finality that I will never again be pregnant.

It’s coming to terms emotionally with the fact that we are done.

I’m not past the point where I don’t get upset that a friend is pregnant (or thinking about having more kids). I’m not over seeing Leslie Know find out she’s expecting in Parks and Rec (spoiler alert). I’m not ready to have those kinds of things in my life because they still affect me so. I know I’ll never be pregnant again, I’ll never feel little flutters and kicks, I’ll never have that secret love that only a mother and an unborn baby can share. I’ll never agonize over silly decisions about whether or not I can eat deli lunchmeat, I’ll never take prenatal vitamins or play music for my unborn child or do all of the other crazy little life adjustments we make as pregnant women.

I just weaned my last child which makes this post even more sentimental. I can’t believe that I made it breastfeeding over five and a half years, with two kids! My youngest is a little over three years old and I’m so proud of all we accomplished together. And I know in my heart I’m ready to wean her, but I’m not ready to be done. I wish there was another child coming along whom I could nurse, babywear, snuggle with.

As I said in my sentimental piece when I first started to deal with this realization, maybe it’s better that I didn’t know “This is the last baby” when I was pregnant with my second child. Knowing my over-analytical self, it probably would have made that experience less joyful if I was constantly “This is the last time I’ll be five months pregnant, this is the last time I’ll find out the gender, this is the last time I’ll go through childbirth”… I’m sure I could get obsessive over all of the “lasts”. And what I would really want to do is be in the moment and enjoy that pregnancy for its own beautiful reasons.

And my own two children are the greatest blessings in my life. Not to get all Hallmark here, but they’re incredible people who have so much love and awe and curiosity. They are truly best friends and I often thank God that they get along so well. (They’re three and five.) This was never about “I need more because I’m not satisfied with my existing kids.” It was the opposite actually. 

My kids adore each other so much, and bring so much joy into each others’ lives, that I wanted more babies to exponentially increase that sibling love. 

As I’ve said in other pieces, I never felt the obligation to have one boy and one girl. I never felt the responsibility to replace myself and my husband on the planet Earth. I wanted more babies to give them to each other, for after my husband and I are gone. That’s the place of love that held the “I wish we could have more children.”

Our lives are beautiful. We are lucky and happy and I’m right where I want to be with so many things. (And most of the things I’m not at goal for, I’m actively working towards, which is also awesome.) I’m the planner whose life didn’t turn out the way I had assumed. And that’s ok. I wish there were more babies in our future, but for the sake of those little ones I’ll never have, it’s just not the responsible choice for us anymore. I feel like that’s showing love and selflessness to those babies who will never exist. If that even makes sense. 

And like my friends and family often point out, there is a lot to look forward to now that we have sailed away from Babyland. My second kid is almost totally out of diapers; I weaned her officially on Christmas Eve – after more than 5.5 years breastfeeding! – and we also moved the kids into a bedroom together. Naps and meals are still routine but it’s not an around-the-clock panic like it was with a baby. And I’m still not sleeping through the night, but I feel like it’s imminent. 

So I’m getting my body back (though no one asked me if I even wanted it in its current state), I got my bedroom and bed back, my kids adore each other, and we will be experiencing more and more freedom as our children grow. I’m excited for this next chapter in our lives – it’s new territory for sure – but I’m still glancing back at what has been, wanting to hold onto it a little more, wanting one last wistful look to remember before that door is closed forever. 

Share with me in the comments what it was like to know you were done having kids. And help me know that I’m not alone.

If you’d like to see our suggestions on how to help your kids get along, click here. 

And to learn how and why I let my last baby wean off of breastfeeding on her own, click here.