Wait - I'm Done Having Kids?

I spent my early adulthood doing everything I could not to get pregnant. 

Then I spent the last eight years whispering intentions, thinking of names and praying for two pink lines...

And now—somehow—I’m here,  on the other side of that long, wild mountain.

One I didn’t even realize I was climbing…

I didn’t expect to have more than two kids. So to have three is a blessing, beyond what I imagined. And still,I find myself grieving.
Grieving that I will never be pregnant again.
That I will never give birth again.
That I won’t hold MY brand new baby against my chest for the first time again.

Even breastfeeding which almost led me to madness with my first will never be done again... 

The End No One Talks About

My friends never spoke about this “ending” stage.
The quiet closing of a chapter that defines women so fully.

There are no showers or ceremonies for this part (though I think there should be!).
No name for the liminal space between still mothering a toddler and being intentionally done bringing life through your body.

And yet the grief is real.

It sneaks up on me in the most ordinary moments:

• Folding the last baby clothes we’ll ever use.
• Seeing someone else's bump and feeling a soft ache.
• Looking at my 3-year-old and knowing I’ll never have another tiny chunky foot to nibble on.

It’s not that I want more children. (Well if I'm being honest, I do!)
I think it’s more that I didn’t realize that part of me was saying goodbye.

Permission to Grieve

I’m giving myself space to mourn.
To feel it. To say it out loud. To let it be sacred.

Because what we grieve, we’ve loved deeply.

I loved being pregnant, even when it was hard and I was vomiting and peeing myself.
I loved birth, even in its wild unpredictability. I loved how strong I felt and how connected I was to my body in those wild moments of birth.
I loved those early newborn days, even through the fog and the ache.

And now, I’m working on being ok with this shift. 

From Becoming to Being

There’s a moment when you go from becoming a mother… to being one.

This is where I find myself now:
Still in the thick of it with little ones, and yet quietly crossing into a different landscape.

Not everyone will understand this grief, but if you do—if you’re reading this and your heart is nodding—please know:
You are not alone.

You’re allowed to feel full and ache for what’s ending.
You’re allowed to treasure what is while honoring what’s passed.

This is a threshold.
And thresholds deserve witnessing.

With love,
Satya Twena