the decision to have no more babies

No more babies.  This is on repeat going through this tired brain of mine lately.  No more babies.

No more babies.

We are finally, seriously out of this baby phase.  The bottles, diapers, onesies, cribs, everything for those little beings…it’s gone.  For a while now, our home just looks like a house full of  boys.  Boy things everywhere, cars, bikes, trikes, dinosaurs and  more cars and trucks…books and blocks everywhere.

Back to that voice in my head…no more babies.  No baby girl (with two boys already, I admit I have fully daydreamed about a girl).  Ever. No long, curls of hair to brush, no daddy’s girl, no girls’ weekend with just my girl.  And I believe it.  I know it.  It’s what I say I want and what will be.  We will be a family of four.  I will be the only girl, surrounded by three men (ohmygosh) someday.

But the pain and heartache with that choice is sort of strangely (at least to me since I am the one who really doesn’t want another) harder than I imagined it to be.

You see, my heartache with becoming a mother in the first place…well I’m sure I need years of therapy for it.  We struggled to get pregnant, to stay pregnant, the preterm deliveries, losing babies, almost losing my life and the months of bed rest.  The journey has been a struggle.  But even then, that’s not what I remember the most about that chapter.

Mostly, I have reflections of just the good. I remember the feeling of being pregnant, of my belly getting so incredibly big so fast, of allowing myself to be the healthiest I have ever been and loving every bite along the way to getting there, with glowing skin, shiny hair.   I was the pregnant mom who was annoyingly happy.  I loved my belly and I loved being pregnant.  I felt good, mostly. That’s what I remember the most.

So this choice…it gives me unexpected heartache.

that heartache emerges from the not having a choice.  Let me explain.  During my last emergency ectopic surgery, my tubes were completely removed.  So in some sense, I have no choice.  I can’t leave it up to Mother Nature or God, which would make it so much easier.  To just sort of see what happened and if it were meant to be.

I can’t really take that approach. Instead, we have to make a conscious choice to get help and make it a happen and that’s where it ends for me.  Because I literally can’t, I won’t do it anymore.  And this choice and to realize that my body will never do this one thing that only women and not all women are able to do, even though this choice is mine, it gives me heartache.

I still dream about the third.  The third baby that we were supposed to have.  The third baby that maybe is a girl, maybe he’s a boy.  But either way, that baby would be so loved.  That baby would fit perfectly into our family.

That heartache, it comes also from knowing that I will never hold a newborn that is mine. That never again, will I experience all those firsts.  No more feeding quietly in the those pre-dawn hours, no more toothless gummy, drooling smiles, no more insanely fat, squishy thighs, no more baby smell, no more cozy snuggles…you know the ones you only get with little babies.  I could go on and on and as I type this, I have goosebumps of delight coupled with a tinge of sadness because that’s how much I have loved and know I will miss these firsts. I’m sure as other friends and family have babies, I may even find comfort in the decision…and that holding their newborn will fill the void, at least even for a bit.  Hearing about the sleepless nights and the first months of insanity…it will further cement into my head all the reasons why I am good right where I am.  That keeping this family of four happy and healthy…well maybe that’s all I can really handle anyways.  That maybe three was never in our future.

But that heartache – I don’t think it will ever fully go away.

What I do know that I have do though, is acknowledge that my chapter of having babies is officially over.  That chapter which changed me in ways that I didn’t even know possible.  Lessons of the miracle of life, the blessing, the gift that it truly is.  Being grateful.  Being graceful.  My spirituality transformed and developed from this beautiful chapter.

As I close the chapter for good, most days I welcome this new time in my family’s life.  I tell myself this is just another transition where one phase is ending and another is beginning.  It’s time to move ahead and face new challenges and experience new joys.  There are so many.

But I’m okay with some days being harder.  Days when that heartache feels a little more paralyzing.  Like today.

Because that heartache, well it never really goes away when you know there are no more babies.  Thankfully though, that heartache reminds me of the journey it took to get here, the unbearable pain surrounding loss where you literally cannot move and the unimaginable blissful feeling found in the joy and beauty of life.  And with this chapter closing and a new one beginning, those are feelings I never want to forget.

Love and light,

Shraddha