I Want Another Baby But I’m Terrified

I recently got to spend some time with my best friend and her new baby boy. He was two weeks old when I met him and a complete angel. He pretty much just slept all day, and when he nursed it took less than 10 minutes. The only time I heard him cry was while he was getting his diaper changed. His days and nights were still confused, but he was giving his mama three to four hour stretches of sleep at night. He is a super easy baby. We spent a whole day taking turns cuddling him, talking, and watching reruns of The Office. 

I was so happy for my friend because she’d had one of the worst pregnancies I’d heard of — she was still having violent “morning” sickness at 6 months until they finally got it under control. She deserves an easy baby after that hell. As I cuddled that precious little guy, I couldn’t help but compare my own experience at that point postpartum. My friend was so in love with her baby. She was recovering from a planned c-section, but wasn’t in any pain. She wanted to get back to the gym and was looking forward to being able to get out of the house more. She was obviously tired, but seemed so happy and at peace. 

At that point with my daughter, I was learning to pump because she wouldn’t transfer milk while nursing and was still losing weight. I held out hope that I could nurse her, so I was both pumping and nursing. We would try to nurse, she would fall asleep or get frustrated, so I would pump while she cried and then feed her from a bottle. By the time I’d cleaned the pump parts and bottles, it was almost time to do it all over again. It was exhausting. I was deep in the baby blues heading hard toward PPD. It felt like I’d been transplanted into someone else’s messed up body. I cried constantly. I tried to take a bath to ease the pain I was in, and had to have my husband pull me out because I physically couldn’t get out of the tub on my own. I didn’t have the feelings of love toward my daughter that I thought I should be feeling. It felt like my life was over. (I wrote a whole post on my experience with PPD.)

Now that I’m two years removed from that time in my life and physically and mentally recovered, I find myself longing for another baby. But y’all, I am TERRIFIED. I know that every pregnancy and every baby is different. Just because my first birth and recovery were traumatic, doesn’t necessarily mean the next one will be. Just because my daughter wouldn’t nurse, doesn’t mean the next baby won’t. But also, just because my first pregnancy was relatively smooth sailing, doesn’t mean the next one will be.

I want at least one more child. Both my husband and I come from families with three children. I always knew I wanted multiple kids. (Although my number has come down from the original eight after having the first one. Also my husband was NOT onboard with that idea.) I can’t imagine my daughter not growing up with siblings. My brothers were my first friends, confidantes, playmates, and alternately, bullies and victims. I want that relationship for my daughter. I want her to learn how to play and share and fight and bargain and stick up for herself and stick up for her siblings. I also trust my maternal instincts, and they tell me that I’m not done childbearing. I’m hoping that one day, I’ll know that I’m done and won’t feel that overwhelming yearning for another baby (that goes away eventually right?). 

I know I want another child, but the thought of wrecking my body again after having spent the last two years healing and strengthening it sounds awful. I’m finally at a place where I’m comfortable with how I look, and I’m not quite ready to give it up, as selfish as that sounds. I’m scared that the next pregnancy will be harder than the first, and I’ll have a toddler to take care of at the same time. I’m scared that I’ll have another horrific birth experience where I felt unable to advocate for myself and unheard or brushed off by hospital staff. I’m scared of having another baby who won’t nurse and being forced to make the agonizing decision of exclusively pumping again or going straight to formula. I’m scared of not having enough help with a newborn and a toddler running around like a rabid chinchilla. I’m scared of another complicated recovery with multiple doctors appointments and tests and procedures. I’m scared of having PPD again and emotionally missing out on not only the new baby’s first days, but also my toddler’s life. Not to mention all the things that could happen to the new baby. What if there are birth defects or illnesses that I’m completely unprepared to handle? What if something goes wrong? 

This sounds dramatic because it is, but I feel like I narrowly escaped with my life the first time around. Like I dodged a bullet and the next time I may not be so lucky. I know in my head that these aren’t particularly rational feelings (are feelings ever rational?). I also know that ultimately, none of this is in my control. My life and the lives of all the children I may have belong to God alone. He is the only one who knows what will happen, and He’s the only one who can do anything about it. At this point I have to just trust that if He gives us another baby, He will also give me the strength to handle whatever the future holds.