“Are you planning on having anymore kids?”
It is the summer of 2021, only a few weeks after my first daughter’s first birthday party. I had heard that when your child turns one, people starting asking when the next one is coming along. What this person did not know, however, was that I had only just found out I was having a miscarriage a few days ago. But I didn’t want to trauma dump details from my personal life onto someone who was likely just trying to make small talk.
So instead, I just smiled and said, “Yes, eventually!”
Flash forward two years, to the summer of 2023. I am pushing a cart around the grocery store, while my now three year old pushes her own little cart, which she is happily filling up with things that are not on my grocery list but are nevertheless essentials in her mind. An older woman we pass in the cereal aisle smiles as my daughter almost runs into her, and then, there’s that same question again:
“She’s so adorable! All she needs now is a little sister! Are you planning on having anymore kids?“
I once again felt a pang of sadness at the question. Yes, I had always wanted more. I had never wanted a large age gap between any of my kids. I had loved that me and my siblings were each three years apart. My plan was to do the same: three kids, each three years apart. But now here I was, with a three year old daughter, and I was in the middle of a divorce. There would be no more kids, at least not anytime soon. Maybe there would be no more kids ever. Maybe my first pregnancy was my last, and I hadn’t even been able to cherish it as such. But this person didn’t need to know any of that.
So instead, I just smiled and said, “Who knows, maybe!”
Flash forward another year and a half, to the winter of 2024. I am engaged to the man I had started dating two summers ago when my daughter turned three. He himself has two kids, sandwiched on either side of my daughter in age. His oldest has just turned seven, my daughter was now four, and his son would be four soon, too. We are in the middle of wedding planning and trying to move across town, and are just beginning to figure out how to navigate life as a blended family of five.
My worries about my daughter being an only child, or having a large age gap between siblings, or never being a part of a large family are all now gone. With three rambunctious kiddos, life feels busy in the way I have always dreamed of. Maybe not complete, but busy. My fiancé and I had always liked the idea of having our own child, but we also cannot see any way in which we could pull that off anytime soon. A part of me mourns that I may never be pregnant again, but every time that thought creeps up, I remind myself how much I hated being pregnant, anyways. Or I remind myself that I am about to be halfway through law school, and the timing is terrible. Or I remind myself how expensive three kids are, and that one more might just break the bank. I buy a puppy, enroll for more classes, pick out a car that is just big enough for three kids and no more, all in an effort to convince myself that no, there will not be anymore kids anytime soon. My fiancé and I convince ourselves that on the weeks our kids are gone, we can travel to foreign countries we’ve only seen in Instagram reels, or go on dates to nice restaurants with no curfew, or maybe just sleep in past seven in the morning.
We tell ourselves all of this, and yet when an old family friend asks my fiancé and I at our engagement party, “So, are you guys planning on having anymore kids?” we just look at each other, smile and shrug, and say, “Who knows, maybe!”
Finally, flash forward to today. The wedding has come and gone, and we’ve moved into a cute little townhome that better fit our family. The dog we bought to fill the quiet during the weeks the kids are gone just turned one year old. And I am nearing the end of what has felt like a long pregnancy with not one, but two little girls.
But of course, despite these twins being kids #4 and #5 in our blended family, well-meaning nurses and strangers at church alike have still asked, “Are you planning on having anymore kids?”
A question that used to sting now has a different undertone. I no longer worry about whether my daughter will have siblings, whether I will ever experience pregnancy again, or whether I will forever be haunted by what-ifs. Between my daughter, my step kids, and these twins, life feels more than full. In many ways, I cannot imagine ever adding more to the chaos. And yet, when I am asked if we would ever try for a sixth child, a strange mix of sadness and nostalgia creeps in.
The decision to start a family in your twenties is not all that uncommon, but for some reason, I never thought I might make the decision to stop growing my family in my twenties, too. At only twenty-six, that decision feels impossibly heavy. So rather than make a final decision now simply to satisfy curiosity — because, let’s be honest, when you have decades of life left in front of you, is any decision really final? — I have gone through this pregnancy under the assumption that it is my last pregnancy, just to make sure I truly appreciate it. To me, this pregnancy is a second chance to experience and embrace everything I missed out on the first time.
If this is my last pregnancy, I hope I never forget the days when it felt like my body was literally breaking, but I kept going anyways. Surviving this shows you your own capacity for resilience in ways that are hard to find elsewhere.
If this is my last pregnancy, I hope I never forget the strength I had to summon from deep inside of me to still go to school and work and function as if nothing was different, when in actuality it felt like I was being broken and reconstructed, every day.
If this is my last pregnancy, I hope I never forget how my husband carried me through the trenches, and in doing so, taught me what true love and selflessness looks like.
If this is my last pregnancy, I hope that over time, the guilt fades. I hope I remember that the Saturdays where no one was changed out of pajamas, or the nights we resorted to McDonald’s for dinner, were probably great memories for my kids, even if it felt like I was being a bad mom.
And finally, if this is my last pregnancy, I hope that even if bidding farewell to newborn snuggles and baby giggles feels bittersweet now, that over time, the decision becomes obvious. I hope that in twenty years, when we all gather around the table for Thanksgiving, and we need extra chairs for new spouses and children and friends, that our family feels complete.
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Step by Step Parenting 