At 26, I gave birth to my first child. At 30, I suffered a miscarriage. At 31, I gave birth to my second child. At 35, I questioned another. At 36, I decided I was done. At 37, I changed my mind and miscarried again and in the nearly two years since, I’ve waffled back-and-forth, back-and-forth, back-and-forth against my emotions and my biological clock.
If you’ve walked in my slippers, you know the maybe-baby pendulum is more than exhausting, it’s debilitating. When the baby answer was yes, I threw myself into vigorous baby body preparation mode. I put plans on hold. I obsessed over it. I worried about it. When the baby answer was no, I questioned myself. I obsessed over it. I worried about it.
What did my heart want? What did my family want? What could my body handle?