For years, our reader Anna, 34, thought she might have a fourth child at some point. Her three children are now so big (between 7 and 10) that she knows it’s fine to keep dreaming of having a baby. But the truth is that she has long since realised that she will never be pregnant again. The family is complete. Farewell to a way of life.
My bag is vibrating. I’m on my way from one appointment to the next. I dig my mobile phone out of my pocket, which is far too full. It shows me a message. I click on it. A picture appears. It’s a photo of a positive pregnancy test… A moment like that cuts through cold butter like a warm knife. It divides time into a before and an after. Especially when the photo is followed by the sentence „You’re going to be a godmother“.
I could cry with emotion. A new person. So beautiful! And there it is again, that feeling of uncertainty: what will come, who will come? How will the pregnancy go, how will the birth go, what will the baby be like? Curiosity, anticipation. Excitement, tingling. The world just keeps spinning with news like this, but something earth-shattering is raging inside us. A baby!
I’m so happy to be a godmother, to be able to experience it all again – at least a little –. Because in my life as a mum of three, one thing is clear: I will never be pregnant again.
Did I really just write that sentence? I’m still struggling with this finality. There’s a battle raging inside me between reality and fantasy. Reality says: You have three great children, your last pregnancy was eight years ago. You’re not getting any younger. The children are out of the woods now and you finally have more freedom again.
Your imagination says: You have three great children, so the fourth would be just as great. You’re still young (don’t you always feel that way?). The children don’t need you physically so much anymore, so why not put the resources you’ve freed up into a new fascinating creature? The grown-ups would certainly help, they are the ones who keep asking: why don’t we have another baby?
There’s this bubbling in my tummy and I automatically put my hand over it to protect it. Oh no, there’s no wriggling human being, there’s just intestinal movements, the days of having a baby in my belly are over. It’s just that I had children quite young, in my mid-20s. Many of my friends are only now having children, maybe that’s why I think so much about it.
Another child: do I want one or not?
When I’m travelling on business and looking at a new city, I think: I’ll freeze this wonderful free moment now and thaw it out when I get weak again and think: I’d love to have another baby. Times when I calculate on the first day of my period on which day a child would probably come if I were to become pregnant unplanned in the next cycle. The only thing: it won’t happen. For the man, that’s clear. For me too, actually…
I savour the freedom that is returning, I savour the Anna that I was before the children, who loved to dance, who enjoyed spending time with friends, had hobbies and worked a lot. And my mother’s heart tells me: all that plus a baby would be perfect. But then reason kicks in and says: before the first child, I also thought everything would go on like this, only with the addition of a smiling baby.
In reality, however, things turned out differently: First there was the terrible nausea and tiredness. There were two caesarean sections – the thought of opening the scar again scares me. After the birth, there were the crying phases every evening, always around six hours, for six months. The flatulence. The sleepless nights, the feeling of everything sticking to you. The child sticks, the hair sticks, life sticks because day and night are no longer different.
"It’s all good the way it is"
And then I look at our three children, give them a hug, help them with their homework, drive them to their hobbies and go to bed at night knowing that I can sleep through the night and drive to work the next morning, which I really love. And then I think: everything is fine the way it is. I have the time to accompany them in their everyday lives. Above all, I also have the nerve to do it (most of the time, at least).
It feels great. We are complete! Even if this longing is still lurking inside me. I take it seriously. It shows me that my feelings are big enough to take other beings into my heart. I have taken on the sponsorship of a refugee boy, which is incredibly fulfilling. We have been seeing each other regularly for over a year and it is more intimate every time. But I’m also thinking about doing more for myself. There is still this dream from my childhood of having my own horse. Who knows, maybe I’ll fulfil it one day when more resources become available alongside my work, relationship, friends, children and household!
And then there’s my godchild. The pregnancy went well, the birth was painful, the child is fantastic. He gurgles, babbles, smiles and learns. It makes me happy to experience this child so closely and yet not have to bear the responsibility myself. It’s what I actually wanted: everything remains the same in my life, but there’s a new little person. I now just go to see him as often as I can when I want to breathe in the scent of a baby – and still sleep through the night.
