Waiting for the Yearning + the Baby I’m Not Rushing
TW: If you are in a season of fertility challenges or grieving a loss, I don’t recommend reading this blog. I’m holding you close to my heart.
This question isn’t new here: how do I know when and if I’m ready for another baby?
My son is 3.5 now, and I’ve been circling this question since he was about a year and a half. That was when my midwife told me I’d be cleared to try to conceive and be in the super safe zone for a VBAC homebirth. I wanted to wait a few cycles. Then until after vacations. Then until my business felt more stable. Then until Hawthorne was potty trained.
And here we are. Still waiting.
After a hard pregnancy filled with depression, anxiety, and gaining 70 pounds, followed by a traumatic birth that was planned as a homebirth but ended in a hospital transfer and cesarean after three long days of laboring at home (the home part was dope. The hospital arrival is when things went awry), I carried a lot of fear. The labor itself was beautiful and exhausting. The loss of autonomy at the end was what marked me. For a long time, I was afraid of repeating that.
Then there was the question so many mothers quietly hold: how could I possibly love another child as much as I love my son? That evolved into something more honest. I know my love can expand. But my time and attention cannot multiply in the same way. I would not be able to give another child the exact same version of me.
Today I am happy. I adore my son. I have done deep healing around my pregnancy and birth experience. Pregnancy announcements no longer sting. I do not feel rushed. I know I want a redemptive birth one day. I know I would love for Hawthorne to experience having a sibling; he lights up around babies.
But I am still in this in-between space.
Part of it comes from being an only child. I loved it, truly. As an adult I can see the practical benefits of siblings, especially after caring for my parents separately during random hospital stays (each separate and each scary and each unexpected) over the past two years. Sharing that responsibility would have been helpful. I know losing them someday will carry its own weight. My mother, also an only child but who yearned to give me a sibling, has prepared me for this since I was a child. But emotionally, I do not have a lived understanding of sibling closeness.
And growing up, I rarely witnessed sibling relationships that felt healthy or warm. Of course I know beautiful sibling bonds exist and have seen them. But my early imprint did not include many examples of that kind of closeness.
Then there was my unexpected pregnancy and miscarriage in 2024. I was not ready. I was blessed to conceive, and I was angry at myself. I resented being pregnant, and I felt ashamed for feeling that way. I would look at Hawthorne and cry, grieving time I thought I was about to lose.
When I miscarried, I felt both heartbreak and relief. Both were true. That experience clarified something for me. I never want to carry a baby I have not wholeheartedly welcomed in my heart first. I want my children conceived and carried in anticipation and love, not fear or pressure or resentment. That moment solidified my commitment to never move forward just because it seems like what I “should” be doing.
And then there is me.
I am doing well right now. I love motherhood. Having one child allows space for me to care for myself. I do not thrive on little sleep or constant chaos. I value quiet, structure, and intentional time with my son. I value my work, which fulfills me deeply. I know another baby would stretch all of that.
Maybe that is why I have been given time. A larger age gap would allow more independence, more understanding, more stability. An older child who can communicate, who can feel pride in being an older sibling. That feels supportive to my nervous system.
And let me be clear: will there ever be a RIGHT time where all life factors are perfect? No. I’m not a fucking idiot. But there will be a time when my nervous system says “Yes, let’s bring forth a child through love, anticipation, and excitement. We trust the rest will fall into place.”
Recently I asked on Instagram, “If you consciously conceived your children, how did you know you were ready?”
Two responses stayed with me:
“We always knew we would have 2. It was the third that was not contemplated. [baby name redacted] came to me constantly. I saw her face in the clouds, 3 shooting stars, and her soul was relentless (exactly as she is now). I felt like someone was missing. I now feel like there is no one else that needs to be here. I feel complete and don’t feel grief at not having another.”
“I just felt a longing for another baby. I knew deep down I NEEDED to experience birth again but on my own terms and without any outside pressure. I had my first freebirth baby ten months after that decision and her entire pregnancy and birth were the healing experience I needed.”
What stood out was not practicality. It was yearning. Inner knowing. A sense of completion or a pull toward expansion.
And then I started reflecting on the variations I have seen.
Siblings close in age:
• Some are inseparable, best friends, built-in companions who cannot imagine life without each other.
• Some are distant, strained, or simply very different people who struggle to connect.
Siblings far apart in age:
• Some describe having a mentor, a protector, space to form independent identities, and deep gratitude for the dynamic.
• Some felt like they had separate childhoods and wished for more shared experiences.
Only children:
• Some loved the independence, the closeness with their parents, the space to grow.
• Some longed for companionship and shared responsibility later in life.
Parents of children close in age:
• Some thrive in the energy, the play, the noise, the constant movement which are all signs of a family of love.
• Some feel stretched thin, overwhelmed, and nostalgic for the simplicity of one, warning others with lifeless, sleep-deprived eyes, “Think carefully before you have another”.
Parents of children with larger age gaps:
• Some love the help, the maturity of the older child, the sense of calm and balance.
• Some feel older, more tired, and surprised by how much they forgot about newborn life.
My point is not that one path is better. It is that no configuration guarantees closeness, ease, or struggle.
What seems to matter most is the home they are raised in. A home that encourages connection. A family culture that values relationship. A marriage rooted in love and service. Parents who are as regulated and present as possible, even though none of us do it perfectly (I cried this morning while holding Hawthorne, overwhelmed with the hormonal onslaught of my period and the physical struggle I had to have while giving him a bath after he played in the dirt and mud).
From what I feel and from what these women shared, readiness is less about logistics and more about longing. When a mother feels the pull, that seems to be the clearest signal. Not pressure. Not a timeline. Not comparison.
For now, I am at peace. I have done deep healing. I am surrounded by women whose redemptive birth stories give me hope. I do not feel rushed.
But I trust that when the yearning is undeniable, I will know. And that will be enough.
