Navigating secondary infertility for the past two—going on three—years unexpectedly changed my relationship with my daughter for the better. It didn’t just change how I felt about having another child; it changed how I showed up for the one I already had.
Before Secondary Infertility: When Motherhood Felt Simpler
For the first three years of my daughter’s life, motherhood felt simple. I soaked up all the snuggles and all the firsts—her first tooth, her first steps, her first words. Even though she was born during the peak of the COVID-19 pandemic, I cherished the little bubble our family of three was “stuck” in. It was just us. Because we were in quarantine, there was no pressure to entertain family and friends eager to meet our daughter.
When my husband and I started trying for our second child, my daughter was a little over three years old. A few things—the pandemic, a period of unemployment, and the passing of my dad—played a role in why we waited a few years before trying again. In the beginning, it was exciting to imagine what my daughter would be like as an older sibling. On my husband’s side, she is the oldest grandchild, and it was fun to picture adding more grandchildren to his family.
When Secondary Infertility Entered Our Lives as a Family
After about a year and a half to two years of trying “naturally,” along with two rounds of failed IUIs, that initial excitement slowly turned into exhaustion, frustration, annoyance, tears—and everything in between. During those early years of trying, my daughter was three to four years old.
I didn’t recognize it at the time, but during that first year and into the second, I wasn’t savoring moments with my daughter the way I could have. These were the years she started daycare, took her first swim and dance classes, and had her first cousin sleep over. While I was happy and proud of the milestones she was reaching, I was also stuck in my own head.
For example, at her first dance class, I noticed families with multiple kids and took mental notes of the age gaps between them. I’d think, This family has a three- to four-year age gap—maybe I’ll have that age gap too. I originally wanted my kids to be two to three years apart, but… the gap is currently growing. Lol.
Other times, I’d see a family of three—just like ours—and think, They look happy as a family of three. I guess we can be a family of three too.
These intrusive thoughts distracted me from fully enjoying my daughter’s special moments. Although I was physically there with my family, my mind was elsewhere—focused on the future and a child I didn’t have yet. Without realizing it, I was taking this time with my daughter for granted.
The Emotional Impact of Secondary Infertility on Motherhood
One of the hardest parts of secondary infertility was letting go of the family I always imagined. I had always pictured myself having multiple kids. While trying to conceive our second, I found myself in a complicated gray area: deeply thankful for my daughter while simultaneously grieving a child I didn’t have yet.
That’s one of the hardest truths about secondary infertility—it teaches you that multiple, conflicting feelings can exist at the same time.
Around the two-year mark of trying, I realized how much energy I was pouring into a child who wasn’t here yet, instead of being fully present with the child right in front of me. The energy I spent grieving the child I didn’t have yet was physically exhausting. It left me tired, less patient, and less present with my little family. I started to see how much I was missing.
During that time, I began practicing gratitude by intentionally noticing the things in my life that were going well.
How Secondary Infertility Deepened My Bond With My Daughter
Something shifted. I stopped comparing myself to other families and started truly savoring the moments I had with my daughter by focusing on her—and on the present. These moments included her first day of transitional kindergarten, her first soccer game, and her first piano recital.
Oftentimes, when we put my daughter to bed at night, she asks me to stay in her room a little longer so I can lay with her and cuddle. Sometimes she’ll wake up in the middle of the night and come into our room because she’s scared to sleep alone and wants an extra cuddle from Mommy and Daddy.
I used to feel annoyed when these moments happened. I wanted a “night off” or some “me time.” But now I recognize how fleeting these moments are. One day, she’ll be more independent and won’t need us in the same way—and I know I’ll miss this season.
I realized that if I was only going to get “one shot” at being a mom, then I needed to give it everything I had, because I might not get these same moments again with a second or third child.
In an unexpected way, secondary infertility taught me how to be a more present mom. It took a few years to get here, but I cherish this lesson deeply. More than anything, I want my daughter to know—without question—that she is loved.
Secondary infertility didn’t take love away—it sharpened the love I have for my daughter. And if you’re navigating secondary infertility and feel conflicted, exhausted, or unsure of how to hold both gratitude and grief, you are not alone—and you are not a bad mom for feeling both love and loss at the same time. This journey takes time, and there is no right way to move through it.
If you’re walking through secondary infertility and need a quiet space to process it all, this is for you.
I created 5 free, typeable journal prompts to help you reflect, release, and find a little calm—one page at a time.
👉 Download your free prompts here.
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