“Not Right Now” — And That’s Okay

I want another baby.

But not right now.

I want to feel those magical kicks again, to witness a life dancing and growing inside me. I want a redemptive birth, one that feels empowering and healing.
But not right now.

Objectively, this is all fine. These aren’t shocking statements. They don’t make me a bad person. And yet… sometimes they feel that way. I’ve been trying to untangle this for over a year and a half. And as someone who prides herself on being deeply self-aware—someone who’s usually great at finding the roots of her own insecurities—this one has stumped me.

Let me back up.

I’m an only child. I never minded it. Actually, I loved it. I learned to be comfortable alone, to communicate well with adults, and I never had to fight for attention. My mom was also an only child, but she did mind. The loss of her parents hit her hard, and she always wished she’d had a sibling to share that grief with. She often told me it would be wise to give a child a sibling someday.

But growing up, I never saw sibling relationships that looked… good. I witnessed fighting, jealousy, chaos. Hair-pulling and door-carving kind of chaos. It wasn’t until I met my husband’s family that I saw sibling love that felt genuine and healthy—but by then, my early ideas had already taken root.

And then there’s my pregnancy and birth story.

It wasn’t joyful. The first half, I was teaching and hating every second of it. I had gone off my anxiety meds cold turkey and felt like I was spiraling. I gained 70 pounds. I had dreams of a beautiful homebirth, and while I did labor at home for three days (which was honestly kind of amazing), I ended up in the hospital for another full day before having a non-emergency c-section. The whole experience left me feeling like my power was taken from me. I don’t want to go through that again.

But also—I do.
I want to re-write that story. I want to experience pregnancy feeling strong and vibrant. I want the birth I envisioned: at home, peaceful, empowering. I want those newborn snuggles, those soft sighs, that quiet magic. I want to breastfeed in low lighting, not under hospital fluorescents. I want to trust myself.

I know Robby wants more children. He’s never pressured me—he’s been so gentle and patient—but I feel the pressure all the same. Maybe it’s just in my own mind, or maybe it’s the subconscious comparison to friends who are on their second or third child. Robby grew up in a big family. We now have something like 16 nieces and nephews. That was supposed to be us, too, right?

But here I am. Loving where I am.
I’m in an incredible rhythm with Hawthorne. We have a routine. I feel grounded. I get to be a present mom and a present woman. I feel joy in my work, my body, my identity. I have time for myself. I worked hard to get back to this space after pregnancy shifted everything—including my relationship with my body. I love my body now. I don’t want to lose this peace I’ve found.

And then, last October, I got pregnant. Completely unplanned. And I was devastated. Angry at myself. Resentful. I cried for two straight weeks—not because I didn’t love the idea of another baby, but because I couldn’t bear the thought of losing this precious, fleeting time with just Hawthorne. My heart may grow with another baby—but the time won’t. The attention won’t. And that broke me.

That pregnancy ended in a very early miscarriage. And I was… both devastated and relieved. And maybe it was the wake-up call I needed. Maybe the Universe was saying,“Stop. You’re pressuring yourself into something you’re not ready for.”

And you know what? No baby deserves to grow in a womb filled with fear, resentment, or doubt. I want my next pregnancy to begin with hope and excitement—not panic. I want to feel joy, not pressure.

It’s okay to wait.
It’s okay to not have babies two years apart.
It’s okay to have a big age gap.
It’s okay to not feel baby fever just because you have a toddler.
It’s okay to say, “Not right now.”

And yet—when I hear someone else is pregnant with their third… I feel the pressure creeping in again. Guilt. Confusion. Why? No one is pressuring me. No one is making me feel guilty.

So why do I feel this way?
Why do I feel like I’m not fitting into the life plan everyone else seems to be following?

I don’t know.
But I do know this:
I want another baby.
Just… not right now.

And that is enough.