In June of 2023, I posed this question to my Instagram story, although the topic had first came up a year prior when Josh suggested having a vasectomy. It was an overwhelming topic that I wanted to gain perspective on as I didn’t often hear people openly share about the decision making process of how to determine their family size. I wasn’t remotely ready to make a permanent decision, and through tears I shared with Josh the pain that surfaced for me with his suggestion. After a long pause, we agreed not to make any decisions until we had talked it through with a couples therapist.
Beginning the Discussion
More than a year would pass between the time that Josh introduced the subject and when we’d finally connect with a therapist who was a good fit. By that time family planning was no longer our top priority. Instead, we spent seven months focusing on connection and attachment—learning healthier ways to engage with one another and working to balance the ways we show up in our marriage. After reflecting on the growth we’d accomplished through the months and how much more settled and lighter our relationship felt, our therapist Tracy proposed that we move to our next area(s) of focus. She made suggestions of what that might be, but posed the question to us—did we have a particular topic we’d like to move on to? Without missing a beat, Josh suggested the vasectomy discussion.
In theory I knew this was on the docket, after all we had noted it on our intake form. But still I felt blindsided and overwhelmed by the thought of navigating the topic. When asked what was coming up for me, I expressed feeling like I was entering a losing battle. Josh, who tends to avoid conflict and disappointment at all costs, also pointed out that it was uncharted territory for us to not be on the same page about a topic so significant and this dynamic added a layer of discomfort.
He communicated his dedication to working through this with me. While much of the processing could probably be done with my individual therapist, he wanted to be present for the emotions and heartache that arose, no matter how long it took. Even still, it felt so painfully raw and I couldn’t imagine landing in a place where we were in agreement about whether or not to grow our family.
Tracy handled the introduction of this with such gentleness, and as overwhelmed and emotional as I was, I felt a deep sense of comfort knowing we’d be navigating this with her guidance. As that session came to a close, she encouraged us to spend time reflecting on the individual fears and longings we have regarding family planning. We each shared our perspectives during the next session: For Josh, it was partly a feeling that our family is complete and also an excitement for the new season we’re entering. He enjoys the freedom and capacity for personal growth and hobbies that come as our kids age. He has concerns about climate change, overpopulation, and frankly doesn’t have the bandwidth for the life-altering challenges of adding another child.
I wholeheartedly agreed with most of his reasons to forego having a third baby, which seemed to subtly surprise Tracy. Kids are complicated, expensive, and time consuming. I’m not naive to the challenges of reentering a phase of sleepless nights (years), the witching hour(s), and a decreased ability for spontaneous adventures. I considered the significant logistical challenges of having three kids including multiple sets of transportation schedules, another slew of illnesses and appointments, not to mention the outrageous cost of childcare—the list could go on. I acknowledged that choosing to have another baby is nonsensical.
And yet the juxtaposition was that I still desired to have a third, even with a keen awareness of the inconvenience it could be. I recalled my hopes and assumptions of being a mother of three, and the way I visualized Dawson and Adelaide becoming big siblings. I could feel the joy and wonder that a new baby brings and the delight of raising a child, all of which I craved. I reflected on my love of pregnancy and the high I experience when giving birth. It devastated me to consider not having another opportunity to enter into the level of divine femininity that I feel while childbearing. I acknowledged that not all of these are good reasons to have another baby and that the midwife in me may always yearn to experience just one more pregnancy, birth, and newborn phase.
But what I longed for most was to experience a planned pregnancy during a time when we were settled and financially stable. I craved the chance to plan for a child during a time when our marriage could not only handle it but maybe even revel in it. I wanted a chance to do it all again with the knowledge and wisdom we now carry. We’re in closer proximity to family and understand our mental health needs. We’d know how to set ourselves up for success, I explained.
Josh validated my perspective and shared in the sadness over the things I described. Tracy noted how much we agreed on, and while we desired different outcomes, healing could take place through simply having a conversation around family planning this time. She pointed out the rich tapestry of grief, particularly for me, suggesting that there were other ways to move through it—that having a do-over wasn’t the only option I had to heal from our painful past experiences. I wasn’t expecting this response and initially it didn’t resonate with me. It felt jarring and cold. I wanted someone to see my desire, validate its goodness, and help Josh see it too. I wanted to get my way.
Naming the Grief
In subsequent sessions, we identified the layers of grief: There was grief and frustration in having contraception fail my body, and in the inopportune timing of both pregnancies. We had regret and pain about our reactions to positive pregnancy tests, which were informed by fear, shame, and anxiety. Both postpartum periods were deeply challenging as a result of the unfortunate timing. There was heartache in not knowing that my pregnancy and birth with Adelaide may be my last. This process would require me to painfully examine the expectations and assumptions I had for my life and how that may not line up with my reality.
I opened up about how Josh's preference to stop at two felt like a personal rejection, telling myself that if I were a better wife and mom—able to effortlessly juggle our household and kids, he would want to have another baby with me. This led to grief about how challenging motherhood is for me and the shame I have about not having more capacity.
I unearthed more layers, recalling the overwhelming confusion and sadness I felt nearly ten years ago when I was first drawn to midwifery. Of course it was a beautiful and exciting dream too, just drastically different from the lifelong vision I had of being a stay-at-home mom. At the time, I felt conflicted, grappling with the pros and cons of pursuing a career. As I sorted through these complexities, Tracy noted that perhaps saying yes to my baby of midwifery meant unknowingly saying no to having a third child. She encouraged me to reflect on the ways I navigated the difficult decision of whether to pursue midwifery and apply those same strategies when working through this major life choice.
So I did just that—I made space for introspection and solitude. I cried and read. I went on walks, talked to friends, ruminated, and listened to podcasts. I lost sleep writing and this blog post took shape as a cathartic way to timestamp and make sense of what was happening. I requested more frequent therapy sessions and suggested that I do some solo appointments with Tracy so that I didn’t waste Josh’s time. After one individual season, he insisted on showing up week after week to bear witness to this process and hold space for my experience, just like he promised in the beginning.
Unpacking My Desire for a Do-Over
With desperation to sort out whether or not I was conflating the grief of my past experiences with a desire for another baby, I asked Tracy if my desire for a do-over was an example of "repetition compulsion" which refers to the unconscious tendency humans have to recreate past traumatic experiences as an attempt to gain mastery or resolution. Is wanting a third baby my attempt to “fix” my first two experiences by achieving a different, more favorable outcome? Or do I truly have a desire worth fighting for? I don’t recall her response, but deep down I knew the answer.
Keeping a gentle posture, Tracy shared an honest and uncomfortable assessment about Josh’s nature of being a laid back, accommodating, go-with-the-flow person who generally chooses the path of least resistance. She pointed out that throughout our 15+ year relationship, he’s actively avoided letting me down so if there were any possible way that having a third child felt feasible for him, he would be open to it. And he’s not. His firm desire to stop at two kids shows just how strongly he feels about closing the chapter on our childbearing years. In hindsight, highlighting this dynamic was absolutely necessary and pivotal in our process, but in the moment it devastated me. It seemed harsh and dismissive of my pain. I shared that at times it felt less like we were negotiating our plans and more like I was being told we weren’t having another baby and that I’d have to cope with it, even though I know that wasn’t either of their intentions, nor was it true. Again, I just wanted to be told that I was right—that a do-over would heal the pain. Instead, like the great therapist that she is, Tracy stayed with us in the heartache and discomfort and continued to offer thoughtful observations and insights, holding space to process it all.
