Mindful Mama Journey

The Things I Appreciate About Having One Child

Lately, my husband and I have been talking about the perks of having one child. For one, traveling is less expensive. If we fly, we only have to pay for three tickets, and when we go on road trips, our SUV is big enough to fit all of us. We don’t need to purchase a van. Our daughter is also a bit older now and can handle longer car rides and flights because she is more independent.

I’ve also noticed that when we go to family events like parties or camping trips, my husband and I don’t have to constantly “watch” our daughter. She happily runs off to play with her cousins. During one of our recent camping trips with my cousins, I simply had to tell my daughter the boundaries of where she could play and where she couldn’t. Every now and then, I’d stand up to spot-check on her and make sure she was safe. For the most part, though, she was in her own little world playing with her cousins.

My sister and her husband, on the other hand, have two kids, one of whom is a toddler. They had to constantly watch their toddler to make sure he wasn’t doing something unsafe or running toward the street.

Noticing the benefits of having one child and the added responsibilities that come with having multiple children got me wondering….

Do I want more kids?

The Life We’ve Settled Into

Although I am open to having another child, I sometimes think about what my husband and I would be giving up if I were to get pregnant again.

Now that our daughter is older, my husband and I have settled into a comfortable rhythm. During the weekdays, we wake up, get ready for school and work, go to school and work, and then come home. While we’re home, my daughter and I usually hang out for a bit while my husband prepares dinner, and then we eat. After dinner, my husband and daughter play while I wash the dishes from the day (we don’t have a dish washer).

At night, my husband and I take turns putting our daughter to bed while the other one exercises or enjoys some “me time.”

On the weekends, when soccer and baseball are in season, we go to her games and then spend the rest of the weekend at parks, museums, or playdates with my daughter’s cousins. 

Finding Comfort in the Predictable

Though our routine is somewhat predictable, I enjoy it because, for a while, things were not predictable.

During the newborn stage, my husband and I were just trying to figure everything out—breastfeeding, formula feeding, and eventually solids. I also remember the anxiety that came with the newborn stage as I constantly worried about my daughter’s well-being.

Then, during the toddler stage, we went through potty training, sleep training, and transitioning her to her own room. During the first few years of her life, I stayed home with her while my husband worked.

Now, after those early years, my husband and I finally feel settled. I’ve even started exploring the possibility of going back to work full time. Currently, I am a part-time substitute teacher.

I’m also thankful that, because my husband and I take turns putting our daughter to bed, I have time at night to exercise. Maintaining my health is important to me because I want to be physically well enough to keep up with my daughter as we both get older.

How Secondary Infertility Has Changed the Way I Think Am I Done Having Kids, or Just Comfortable?

When I see other families with more than one child and multiple responsibilities, I wonder if I’m done having kids or if I’m simply comfortable with where I’m at in life.

Sometimes, when we come home from family parties and I see my family members with multiple kids, I think, “I’m glad I have one, but of course I’d love the newborn stage again if I get pregnant. At least I think I would.”

If I were to get pregnant again, I’d give up the routine that we’ve settled into. But I can also imagine a life where I get to experience the newborn snuggles and toddler firsts again, and where my daughter becomes a gentle, loving older sibling.

Secondary infertility has been such an interesting journey. I feel like I’ve gone through waves of emotions. For now, I’ll just sit with what I’m feeling.

The Moment of Uncertainty: A Possible Pregnancy During Secondary Infertility

My period is usually like clockwork each month. My first signs are sore breasts and cramps. Around this time, when I go to the restroom and wipe, I’ll usually see a little pink discharge on the toilet paper. A few hours later, my flow of bright red blood follows.

This weekend, though, my period wasn’t like clockwork. It started out “normal,” but the red flow didn’t come as expected.

For the rest of the day on Saturday, every time I went to the restroom, there was still no flow and no blood when I wiped. I expected that by night, while I slept, my period would be in full bloom. However, my period’s irrational behavior continued into Sunday.

Then it dawned on me.

Could the blood I had been seeing be implantation bleeding?

Am I pregnant??!?

I used to imagine the moment I’d receive a positive pregnancy test. I thought that after years of receiving multiple negative tests and experiencing secondary infertility, I’d cry happy tears as I called my husband into the bathroom to show him the result. He’d cry too, and we’d hold each other and cry some more before excitedly planning for the future.

But that wasn’t what I felt.

Instead of telling my husband I might be pregnant, I sat confused on the toilet seat, staring at the toilet paper. I examined the blood closely — it was pink and looked like old blood. I wiped a little more, half hoping to see more, and then I realized I was actually wishing for my period instead of a pregnancy.

That night, as I put my daughter to bed, I stared at her as she slept. Her head was on her pillow, my arm around her, and we were face to face. I could feel her small breaths against me.

I felt sad and a bit teary. I wondered how I would split my time between her and another sibling.

What I Expected to Feel vs. What I Actually Felt During a Pregnancy Scare

Before my husband and I started trying for our first child, we envisioned having more than one kid. Then, after experiencing 3 years of secondary infertility, I had to actively change my mindset and learn how to live in the present with my daughter instead of mourning a child I didn’t have yet.

I fully embraced holding her hand in public and sleeping in her room with her at night (even though she is 6) because I realized these moments are fleeting and she’ll soon grow up. I’ve also written about how secondary infertility has changed my relationship with my daughter and how I treasure our quiet moments together—you can read that post here.

After constantly reminding myself to be present and grateful, I began to genuinely get excited about a new vision of my family that only included the three of us. I imagined how close my husband, daughter, and I would be, and how nice it would feel to maintain that closeness as my daughter got older.

Why Secondary Infertility Can Change How You React to a Possible Pregnancy

I must admit that I was a bit confused by the feelings I was having. Why was I sad about the possibility of another baby when I had already experienced 3 years of secondary infertility? I should have felt happy, excited, and grateful at the possibility — but I didn’t.

I think it’s because, for so long, I had to work at understanding and believing that my family is enough. The thought of adding another child meant I had to rewire my brain… again.

The Emotional Whiplash of Secondary Infertility: Relief, Sadness, and Returning to Normal

My period ended up coming the next day, and with it came a sense of relief… followed by a bit of sadness for not actually being pregnant after wishing for my period back.

The back-and-forth emotions gave me whiplash. Ha.

I felt off for a few days after that—caught somewhere between relief and sadness—but eventually, things settled, and I found my way back to normal again.

What I’ve learned from this journey is that the emotions that come with secondary infertility are not linear. Even though I’m overwhelmingly happy, content, and deeply in love with my family of three, my feelings will still fluctuate from time to time — and that’s okay.

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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.

The Question About Having More Kids That I Always Dreaded

My husband’s parents live in Northern California, and we live in Southern California. We visit them often and go on trips with them. We’ve been to Walt Disney World, Hawaii, and recently went camping with them at Steep Ravine.

I think part of the reason we’re able to go on trips with my in-laws is because my husband works remotely and has a flexible job. As a substitute teacher, I also have a flexible schedule and can take time off whenever I want or need to.

The other (big) reason we’re able to travel with them is because we are a family of three. My daughter is older now (the big 6!), so she handles long car rides and long flights (about five hours) much better. She’s more independent and can entertain herself.

And if worse comes to worst, I can throw on a movie during those long flights or drives, and she’ll be perfectly content watching her favorite movies.

In our experience, it’s been easy to travel with my daughter because we already know what to pack and don’t have to bring all the extras we needed when she was little (baby bottles, bottle cleaners, a Pack ’n Play, stroller, etc.). Flights also don’t get too crazy expensive because we’re only paying for three seats.

Despite navigating secondary infertility for three years, our lives have continued moving forward, and we’ve naturally taken advantage of being a family of three — like my daughter getting extra one-on-one time with my in-laws.

Whenever we would go on trips with my in-laws, my heart would skip a beat as I waited for the question: “Are you planning on having more kids?”

Needless to say, during our trip to Steep Ravine Campgrounds, I waited for this question.

While my daughter and husband were out mingling with our new friends for the weekend (you can read about that in this post), my mother-in-law, father-in-law, and I sat around the picnic bench inside our cabin.

My father-in-law was filling my mother-in-law in on our interactions with the neighbors since she had been taking a nap earlier. He mentioned how each of them had one child and that one of our fellow campers had said “no” when asked about having more kids. 

At that moment, I knew my father-in-law was going to ask me that once-dreaded question. True to form, he asked if my husband and I were done having kids.

The First Time I Opened Up About Secondary Infertility

At the beginning of my secondary infertility journey, I handled the “Are you planning on having more kids?” question differently. When we went to Hawaii with them in 2024, I shrugged it off with a “we’ll see” and quickly changed the subject.

When we went to Steep Ravine, I felt the question coming.

My heart still skipped a beat when my father-in-law asked, but this time, I heard myself being transparent about our situation. It almost felt like I was floating outside of my body, watching myself answer the question (lol).

I surprised myself because it’s not like I had prepared a whole speech beforehand. It just felt like it was time. Time for my in-laws to know about our experience and understand what I had kept bottled up inside.

As I explained our journey with secondary infertility, I kept wondering how much I wanted to share. It turns out I ended up telling them more than I expected: two failed IUIs, the possibility of IVF, and even the complicated feeling that my family is already complete.

It was interesting hearing myself say these things out loud because I had kept this part of my life mostly to myself over the years. But in that moment with my in-laws, I wanted to be clear with them and let them finally see how my husband and I view our family: whole.

How Secondary Infertility Changed the Way I See My Family

As I reflect on the moment I opened up to my in-laws about my family, I realize it wasn’t random. I had slowly been building up to it.

Over the last three years of navigating secondary infertility, I’ve had time to process my feelings and rethink the way I see my family and how I want to show up for them, especially for my daughter.

One truth I’ve discovered on this journey — one thing I feel certain about — is that I want my daughter to know and feel how deeply loved she is by me and my husband. Because of that, I’ve chosen to be present and fully live in these moments with her. 

One day, she won’t want me to snuggle with her in bed before she falls asleep, and she won’t come running excitedly to me when I pick her up from school.

In many ways, secondary infertility has changed the way I view my relationship with my daughter, and you can read more about that here.

Why I Finally Shared My Secondary Infertility Story With Family

In addition to telling my in-laws about my journey with secondary infertility, I also told my sisters — just in a different way. Instead of having a conversation, I shared my blog with them (the one you’re currently reading!).

For a long time, they knew that my husband and I were trying for another child, but they didn’t know what I had been experiencing internally, externally, or the perspective shifts I’ve had to make along the way.

It took me awhile to tell them. I actually hesitated before sharing my blog, but ultimately I decided to because I felt ready enough and wanted them to understand my experience more deeply. Through writing, I’ve been able to explain my secondary infertility journey more clearly than I could through verbal conversations.

It took time to get here (and a lot of thinking and processing), but I’m glad I’m at the place I’m in now. Now that I’ve opened up to my inner circle, it feels like I can fully embrace my family as it is because it’s no longer a secret. The people closest to me can finally see my family the way I do.

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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.

A Camping Trip With My Only Child—and My Quiet Worry

This past weekend, my husband, daughter, and I went camping with my in-laws. I had been really looking forward to it—my husband actually won a lottery to reserve our spot at Steep Ravine.

Steep Ravine is along the Northern California coast, and the cabins are like fortified tents with walls. No electricity, no bathrooms, no mattresses. We packed our flashlights, camping oven, and sleeping bags.

Even though I was excited, I couldn’t help but wonder if my daughter would be lonely—a thought that’s come up here and there as we’ve been navigating secondary infertility.

She loves the outdoors and has been camping before. Just last month, we went on a trip with my sisters, their husbands, their kids, and some friends and their kids. She had the best time playing with her “cuzzies” in the dirt, using walkie-talkies to “call” each other, and staying up late making s’mores by the fire.

So this trip felt… different.

At Steep Ravine, it would just be me, my husband, my daughter, and her grandparents.

Before we left, I made sure to tell her that. I wanted to prep her so she would know what to expect.

Still, I wondered—would she be bored? Would she miss her cousins? Would she wish this trip looked more like the last one?

Then Something Unexpected Happened on Our Family Camping Trip

On Saturday morning, the three of us went on a hike while grandma and grandpa stayed back at the cabin.

While we were on the trail, we ran into a dad and his daughter. They were friendly, and the dad mentioned they were also staying at Steep Ravine. He even recognized my daughter from the night before—he remembered her jacket. We chatted for a bit and then went on our way.

When we got back, my husband made tuna sandwiches for lunch. As we were eating, we noticed a family moving into the cabin next to ours.

Another family of three.

I could see my daughter watching them through the window. She even popped her head out and waved hi, and kept asking to go outside.

It didn’t take long before she found her moment. On our way to the restroom (which, I think, was just her excuse), she introduced herself to the mom and daughter next door.

After we got back, she convinced her grandpa to take her on a “walk”—except it wasn’t really a walk. She led him straight to the neighbor’s cabin.

Then, not long after, the girl we met on the hiking trail showed up with her dad.

And just like that, the three girls were playing together.

My daughter is 6, and the other girls are 7 and 8. They clicked instantly.

They played all afternoon, and then again the next morning. It was like they had known each other forever.

Only Child Stereotypes That Didn’t Hold Up on This Trip

As I watched them, I couldn’t help but smile.

I felt so proud of my daughter—and honestly, all three of them—for how easily they connected, how comfortable they were, and how quickly they formed their own little world.

Because of my daughter, I ended up spending the afternoon outside too, talking with the other parents.

There’s this common assumption that only children struggle socially, don’t know how to interact with others, and are “lonely” (I wrote about the myth of being an only child—you can read that post here).

But what I saw that day was the opposite.

The girls were comfortable with one another and didn’t need any of us to get them to talk.

They played in the dirt, drew pictures, ran around the cabins, sang, and danced—just like my daughter had done with her cousins the month before.

Seeing Other Families of Three Made Me Feel Less Alone

Something else stood out to me that I didn’t expect.

It felt really refreshing to be around families that looked like mine.

The other parents were a bit older than us, and they seemed genuinely happy and content with their families as they were.

At one point, my father-in-law asked them if they were planning to have more kids. Both families said no.

Where I live, having multiple kids feels like the norm. Being a family of three doesn’t always feel common.

I’ve read about families like ours before—back when I used to scroll through Reddit, trying to find reassurance about how families of three turn out.

But this was different.

This was real life. A chance encounter with not one, but two families who looked like us.

And it made me realize something:

Sometimes you don’t even know you’ve been craving representation until you see it.

In a way, I felt validated. I’ve always felt like my family was complete with the three of us, but seeing these older couples was like seeing a glimpse into the future.

What This Camping Trip Taught Me About Being a Family of Three

Watching my daughter play with her new friends that weekend also gave me a sense of comfort.

All those worries I had—about her being lonely, about her missing out, and about whether she would know how to connect with others—started to fade.

Because the truth is, she’s going to be okay.

She is okay.

More than anything, this weekend reminded me that our family is enough, exactly as it is.

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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.

A Family Comment That Sparked Thoughts About “Completing Your Family”

The other week, my aunt came over for a quick visit. She gave me a hug, saw my daughter, and couldn’t get over how much she looks like me (my aunt used to watch me when I was younger). On her way out, she asked about whether we’d have more kids. I said no (because I’m not actively trying), to which she said, “You should have a boy. A set so your family is complete.” (Funny, because her daughter—my cousin—has 3 girls and no boys.)

I laughed and told her I’d “work on it,” then gave her a goodbye hug and sent her on her way.

At the time, I brushed it off. But the comment about “completing my family” has stuck with me ever since. It caught me off guard, not because it was shocking, but because it made me pause and think about what a “complete” family actually means—and the implications behind “completing a family.”

Why My Family Already Feels Whole With One Child

My daughter is 6—she just turned 6 in mid-April. Since she’s older now, we’ve kind of settled into our routine. We wake up, get ready for school and work, go through the day, and then come home and hang out—usually listening to music or playing games.

Then it’s dinner. After dinner, either me or my husband puts her to bed by reading her a story. After she goes to sleep, my husband and I chat, relax, and sometimes watch TV before going to bed.

Weekdays are pretty full, so we try to make the most of weekends. This past weekend she had a baseball game and swimming class. We spent Saturday evening with cousins, and on Sunday we met up with friends and their kids and went to the Huntington Library, Botanical Gardens, and Art Museums. Next weekend she actually has Friday off from school, so we’re going camping with my in-laws.

Since starting this journey to conceive a second child, I’ve honestly come a long way emotionally. I’ve stopped feeling like something is missing in my day-to-day life and started being more present in it. I actually really like the rhythm we’re in right now. Even though it’s busy, it feels full—and I’m grateful for it.

And because of that, I feel like my family is whole.

Trying for a Second Child Without Feeling Like Something Is Missing

When I think about my family, I don’t feel like we’re missing someone or waiting for someone to make us whole.

That doesn’t mean I’m closed off to the idea of another child. I’m open to it. I would welcome another baby into our family with love.

But I don’t see another baby as something we need in order to be complete. If our family grows, it would be a beautiful addition—not something that fixes or finishes us. Because we’re not incomplete.

What “Completing a Family” Means—and Why It Doesn’t Sit Right With Me

That comment about “completing my family” has stayed with me.

I know my aunt didn’t mean it maliciously. She’s from a different generation, and I understand that. But the idea behind it still carries weight, especially for people who are going through infertility.

It suggests that a family isn’t finished until it meets a certain number of kids or until a certain gender is born.

Whether someone wants one child, several children, or no children at all should be a deeply personal decision. It isn’t something that should be judged or measured by anyone on the outside looking in.

And the idea of needing a boy to “complete” a family inadvertently pits boys against girls and implies that girls are somehow less “final” or less than enough on their own. I may be biased, but my daughter is pretty awesome, and I have no doubt she’ll do great things in this life.

Not Just My Story: Different Ways Families Define “Complete”

The more I sat with that comment, the more I realized it wasn’t really just about me.

It made me think about families who choose to have one child, families navigating infertility or loss, families raising children with special needs, and families who have made the intentional choice to be child-free.

Each family gets to define what “complete” means for them. And when someone says a family should “complete” itself, it unintentionally ignores all of those different realities and choices.

Why “Complete Your Family” Can Feel Like Quiet Pressure

I didn’t take deep offense to what my aunt said. But it did make me think about how powerful casual comments and words can be, especially depending on where someone is in their life or their journey.

I feel like my family is complete. It took me time to get here, and it hasn’t always been a straightforward feeling. But right now, in this season of life, I’m grateful for what we have.

And I think that’s what stayed with me most—not the comment itself, but the reminder that “complete” doesn’t come with a definition that fits everyone.

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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.

The Quiet Shift No One Talks About in Secondary Infertility

No one tells you what it feels like to stop trying… without really deciding to stop.

When my husband and I first started trying for our second child, we naively thought I’d be pregnant by the third month—at the very least.

I remember when three months of trying became four, then five, and so on. During those first few months, I tracked my fertile window using a calendar tool I had used during my first pregnancy.

When that didn’t work, I started using ovulation strips to better understand my cycle. Then we tried the more expensive ovulation sticks with the analyzer. That didn’t work either.

Eventually, we went to a fertility clinic and had two unsuccessful IUIs.

Somewhere in that time—probably after the first unsuccessful IUI—something shifted. Trying for a second baby didn’t feel—or even look—the way it used to.

What Trying for Baby #2 Actually Looked Like for Me

I remember getting ready for my second IUI and driving through the morning rush hour to get to my appointment. The fertility clinic is on the other side of town from where I live. I was guarded, but still hopeful that I’d get a positive pregnancy test. In a way, the second IUI felt more relaxed than the first.

The first IUI felt rushed. We had planned a trip out of town around the same time, so everything felt squeezed in.

My husband had to go to the clinic to get his sperm washed, and then I went in later that day for the insemination—right before we left for our trip to Big Bear. Needless to say, I wasn’t confident that round would work. It felt like the timing was off, like everything revolved around our schedule instead of the process.

The second IUI was different. Nothing felt rushed. Our doctor told us our numbers looked good—good egg count, healthy sperm.

Still, I wasn’t pregnant.

Somewhere between those two IUIs, I started letting go of actively trying. All the tracking, timing, and procedures felt exhausting. Around that same time, I also needed a tooth implant—which isn’t recommended when you’re pregnant or trying.

So I paused.

My husband and I decided that if we were going to try fertility treatments again—another IUI or even IVF—it would have to wait until summer, when the school year was over (I’m a substitute teacher), and after I had completed the tooth implant.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but I think I was tired—physically, emotionally, and mentally—from hoping every single month.

From Trying Every Month to Letting Go (Without Realizing It)

The transition from actively trying… to kind of trying… to not really thinking about it didn’t happen overnight.

It happened gradually, and I think having the time to sit with my emotions helped (I mean, after three years of secondary infertility, I’ve definitely had the time… lol.).

The Fears I Had to Face When I Stopped Trying

Part of “sitting with my emotions” meant acknowledging the fears I used to carry when I imagined having only one child—and asking myself what I could do about them.

One fear I had was that my daughter would feel lonely.

So I asked myself: how can I actively prevent that?

For me, that looks like being a present, engaged mom. It looks like making sure she has opportunities to socialize with other kids—through activities like soccer, baseball, and things outside of school. (I actually talk more about the “only child = lonely child” myth in another post. You can read it here.)

Another fear that lingered in the back of my mind was: what would happen to my daughter if something happened to me?

That one sits a little heavier.

So I focus on what I can control. I try to take care of my health. I still love sweets—but I also make sure I’m eating vegetables, getting balanced meals, and staying active. (Jump rope is still my favorite.)

I think one part of secondary infertility that no one really talks about is this:

learning to acknowledge your fears about having one child—and then gently confronting them.

What Moving Forward Looks Like Now

Summer is only about two months away, and the possibility of doing IVF is there. I don’t have a definite answer yet, but I’m open to it. I actually wrote more about being open to future fertility treatments—you can read that here.

For now, I’m choosing to trust that we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.

What I do know is this—I’m trying to be as present as I can be with my daughter.

Moving forward doesn’t always look like a decision.

Sometimes it looks like being fully present in the life you have right now.

If you’re in this season too, I feel you.

You’re not alone—and you don’t have to have all the answers right now.

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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 journal prompts here.

The other night as I was putting my daughter to bed, she told me that at school two caterpillars had made their cocoons next to each other like “sisters.”

I chuckled and said, “Like me and you are sisters.”

She looked at me and said, “You’re not my sister. Bunny is my sister.”

Bunny is our fourth family member—my daughter’s most precious stuffed animal. She was given to her by dear friends of mine and my husband when our daughter was just born. Bunny has been everywhere with us—Hawaii, Disney World, camping… you name it.

When my daughter said Bunny was her sister, I laughed out loud. I was a little surprised, slightly offended (not really), and for just a moment… a tiny bit guilty. Guilty that I hadn’t given her an actual sibling… and for a split second, I was right back in a version of myself that used to carry that feeling every day.

But that feeling only lasted a few minutes.

If this had happened earlier in my secondary infertility journey, that comment probably would have stayed with me all night.

There was a time when a comment like that would have unraveled me. Now, it barely lingers.

When I first started this journey almost three years ago, having another child was something I thought about constantly. It consumed me. I felt like I tried everything short of IVF to get pregnant.

But these days, I don’t find myself daydreaming about a second, third, or fourth child.

Instead, I find myself thinking about right now.

Being present.

Enjoying what I have.

I used to feel like my family was incomplete. Now I can see how untrue that was. My family isn’t missing anything.

It’s whole.

When my daughter called Bunny her sister, I did feel a mix of emotions—guilt being one of them. But it wasn’t heavy. It didn’t linger. It was just a fleeting feeling that caught me off guard.

More than anything, that moment showed me how far I’ve come.

This journey has changed me.

It’s taught me to let go of what I thought my life should look like… and finally see the life I already have as enough.

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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 journal prompts here.

Bedtime Routines and the Emotional Journey of Motherhood

Since my daughter was born, she has had a bedtime routine: reading books, cuddles, and one of us staying in her room until she fell asleep. Even though she’s had her own room for a few years, she hasn’t actually slept alone most nights.

My daughter is 5 (turning 6 in April), but she has always needed someone—me or my husband—to stay in her room a few nights during the week because she’s “scared.” Most of the time, it’s me who ends up in her bed because I “fit” more comfortably than my husband does. On the nights I don’t sleep in her room, she’ll wake up anywhere between 11:00 PM and 5:00 AM, barge into our room, and squeeze herself in between us. It isn’t the most comfortable sleep, especially since she’s tall and sometimes sleeps sideways.

After reading her books and turning off the light, I usually tell her to “leave space” for me so I can come back at night. When my husband reads her books, she always says, “Tell mommy to sleep with me in my room.”

This has been our routine for a long time—until this week. Over the weekend, my husband put her to bed, and she asked for her “stuffies” to be placed beside her so she could sleep with her friends. Since then—just the past three nights—she hasn’t asked me to sleep in her room, and she hasn’t barged into our bed in the middle of the night.

How My Daughter Learned to Sleep Independently with Her Stuffed Animals

My husband and I take turns reading stories and putting her to bed. The first night she slept with her stuffed animals, my husband put her to bed. She carefully showed him where each “friend” should go. The next night it was my turn, and, true to form, she wanted everything exact:

• Stitch goes to the right side of her pillow, closest to the wall.
  
• Stitch’s girlfriend sits behind Stitch.
  
• Kuromi goes next to Stitch, and then her Squishmallow goes next to Kuromi.
  
• Pikachu gets tucked under the blanket to her left, so that she is nuzzled between her stuffed animals.
  

With her stuffed animals arranged just right, my daughter feels cozy and safe.

Watching her arrange each stuffed animal so carefully, I realized she was finding a new way to feel safe on her own.

This change has been so different from our usual routine. I get to sleep in my own bed, and my head and neck don’t hurt in the morning from trying to find space next to her on her twin bed. On nights I’d previously chosen not to sleep in her room, I’d leave the baby monitor on, ready to hear if she needed me. But last night, I didn’t turn it on. She slept through the night until I woke her for school this morning.

Although I’m thrilled to sleep in my own bed again, there’s a little sadness—my daughter is growing up, and she won’t always need me the way she used to.

Reflecting on Motherhood: When Your Child No Longer Needs You at Bedtime

I didn’t know last week would be the last week my daughter “needed me” to sleep with her. On those nights when I’d lie cramped on her bed, I often wondered how long this stage would last. For a while, it felt like my husband and I had separate rooms.

After her first night sleeping with her stuffies, I told my husband, “I’m so glad I stayed all those times when she wanted me to.” It was just one way I showed up for her, one way I got to be present. And for moms like me, who’ve experienced the fragility of growing our families, being able to show up in these little ways feels even more meaningful.

This moment reminds me to slow down and savor every bit of time I have with her. I don’t know what transitions are coming next week—or the week after—but I do know she won’t always need me the way she used to. And I’m grateful for every night I slept in my daughter’s room.

It was a gift, a quiet way of being present in a moment that I’ll never get back.

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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 journal prompts here.

A Quiet Kind of Openness During Secondary Infertility

Lately I’ve been thinking about IVF in a very different way than I expected.

Not obsessively. Not urgently.

Just… quietly.

I’ve done two cycles of IUI, and both failed. After my second IUI, my fertility doctor mentioned trying another round—except this time I would take a pill alongside giving myself injections.

I’ve thought about doing another round of IUI, but I’ve also considered skipping a third IUI and moving straight to IVF.

Aside from occasionally thinking about IVF, I honestly haven’t been thinking too much about fertility treatments lately.

Life has just been… life.

Staying Grounded While Facing Secondary Infertility

Although I am open to having another child, it’s not something I focus on constantly anymore.

Before realizing I had secondary infertility, I used to think about another baby all the time. I’d think about my fertile week, the timing, the lube, different positions—everything. My mind was always calculating and planning.

But those things don’t weigh heavily on my mind anymore.

Instead, I’ve been trying to focus on the life I already have—my little family—and making sure I don’t take my daughter for granted.

I’ve started savoring small things more—like reading books with her before bed or holding her hand when we walk in public. One day she’ll be 17 and probably won’t want to do those things with me anymore. Thinking about that reminds me how temporary this stage of life really is.

That thought makes me slow down and really appreciate the moments we have right now.

That said, IVF does occasionally slip into my mind—especially now that summer is approaching.

When I did my first two rounds of IUI, they were during the school year. As a substitute teacher, it was physically exhausting trying to make all of my appointments while driving through traffic and still working. (You can read more about that here.)

Because of that, my husband and I decided that if I were to do another round of treatment, it would likely be during the summer when school is out.

Considering IVF: Thoughts During the Secondary Infertility Journey

Fast forward to now: March 2026.

Summer is getting closer, so every now and then IVF pops into my mind.

To be honest, I don’t know a lot about IVF. I know eggs are retrieved and evaluated, and if there’s a good one it’s combined with sperm and eventually placed back into the body.

Beyond that, I haven’t done a ton of research yet.

Part of me feels like if we decide to move forward with it, I’ll cross that bridge when we get there.

I’m also not sure if my insurance would cover it. From what I understand, IVF can be very expensive, and sometimes there are certain criteria you have to meet before insurance will approve it—like trying IUI first.

So for now, IVF mostly exists in my mind as a possibility.

Being Open to IVF Without Pressure: My Secondary Infertility Perspective

My husband and I haven’t made any definite decisions about IVF, but we are both open to it.

For me, after almost three years of trying (three years in April, to be exact), leaving IVF as a possibility matters. Sometimes I feel like if I tried IVF, I could at least say that I tried everything when it came to expanding our family.

At the same time, I’m also really proud of myself.

I feel like I’ve come a long way since the beginning of this journey three years ago.

Our family hasn’t physically grown into a family of four, but in many ways we have grown. We’ve grown in being present with each other. We’ve grown in appreciating the small moments. We’ve grown in learning how to enjoy the life we already have.

For now, I’m allowing myself to stay in this in-between space – not needing to have the answer yet.

I don’t know if I’ll do IVF this summer.

But I am open to it.

And right now, that feels like enough.

If you’re in this quiet in-between space too, I hope you know you’re not alone.

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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.

A Common Comment About Only Children That Stuck With Me

This past winter break, my little family and I took a trip to Disney World in Orlando, Florida with my parents-in-law. My daughter loves Disneyland (and so do I), so we were especially excited for this trip—particularly because I had never been to Disney World before.

While we were waiting in line for the Ratatouille ride, my father-in-law asked my husband about having more kids. He mentioned that a former student of his, who was an only child, had once said it was a “painfully lonely experience.”

My husband responded by saying that loneliness in childhood often comes down to parenting style and parent involvement. My father-in-law wasn’t speaking directly to me, so I wasn’t fully paying attention to the conversation at the time

Later, back in our hotel room, my husband told me about what his dad had said. At first, I laughed because it felt like such a silly comment. But the more I thought about it, the more it stuck with me. Part of the reason is that for a long time, I also believed my daughter would have a lonely childhood as an only child.

That comment made me question a belief I had held for years—and forced me to rethink what actually makes a childhood lonely.

Now that I’ve been navigating secondary infertility for almost three years, I see that notion as nonsense—but it did take me a long time to unlearn that myth.

Why People Believe Only Children Are Lonely (and Why That Belief Hurts Parents)

When my husband and I first started trying for our second child, I’ll admit that one of the main reasons I wanted another baby was so my daughter could have a companion—a built-in best friend for life. But month after month of negative pregnancy tests slowly wore me down. I started to feel like I was failing as a mom.

The idea that a sibling is a “gift” to your child is constantly reinforced, especially on social media. It seemed like every influencer had two, three, four, or even five kids. During the first year—and well into the second year—of trying to conceive, I found myself deeply affected by posts announcing new babies with captions like, “The greatest gift I could give you is a sister/brother.”

Those phrases hurt more than I care to admit. They made me feel like my body wasn’t working “correctly” and that I was failing to give my daughter this supposed built-in best friend. As negative tests piled up, my anxiety often got the best of me. I’d find myself scrolling Reddit late at night, searching for reassurance—wondering if families of three were happy or if only children grew up lonely, upset, or resentful.

When people asked, “Don’t you want your daughter to have a sibling?” or said things like, “You’re next,” I knew they were well-meaning comments—especially coming from my parents-in-law, who were simply excited about the possibility of more grandchildren.

But they still stung deeply. It wasn’t that I wasn’t trying to get pregnant—quite the opposite. I was tracking ovulation, monitoring discharge, eating carefully, trying fertility massages, and giving myself shots for IUIs (I talk more about how I tried to control the outcome of getting pregnant here).

What Actually Makes a Child Feel Lonely (It’s Not Family Size)

It took nearly two years of trying to conceive a second child for me to realize something important: the best thing my husband and I could give our daughter was ourselves—our presence.

All of the time, energy, and emotional effort I was putting into trying to get pregnant was leaving me completely exhausted, both physically and mentally. I was too tired to play, be silly, or truly engage with my daughter. Before I knew it, the day was over and it was time for bed. My mind was elsewhere, and I wasn’t fully present with her.

If that pattern had continued, that is what would have created a lonely childhood.

From the outside, I can see how someone might assume my daughter is lonely because she doesn’t have a sibling her age to play with. But the reality has been quite the opposite.

Because she’s an only child (for now), she receives a lot of attention from both me and my husband. When she gets home from school, we play games together—Twister is a favorite. And one unexpected perk of having one child is that if one of us is tired after work, the other can step in and give her that time and attention.

How Parents Can Help Only Children Feel Connected and Secure

When my daughter is older and looks back on her childhood, I don’t want her to remember it as lonely. What I want—and what I think most good parents want—is for her to know she was loved and that she had fun with us.

My husband and I are intentional about creating that kind of environment. We talk with her during dinner about her day and ask what her favorite part was. We play one of her favorite games, hide-and-seek, even though we hide in the same three spots every time—because she loves it.

And because we know how important it is for her to socialize with other kids her age, we’ve enrolled her in t-ball and soccer. We also make time for playdates with her cousins and classmates.

The Pressure to Give Your Child a Sibling—and Learning to Let It Go

The idea that “one child isn’t enough” or that “being an only child is a lonely experience” feels absurd to me now. I think these statements only become true when people internalize them and allow them to shape how they show up as parents. Children need connection—whether that comes from parents, siblings, or friends—to make their childhoods and lives meaningful.

Right now, our little family of three is doing well. And while I would still warmly and gratefully welcome another child in the future, it’s no longer my sole focus. Instead, I focus on what I have right now—and on making sure my daughter (and my husband) know that they are deeply loved and truly important.

If you’re still unlearning this myth, you’re not alone—and it doesn’t mean you love your child any less.

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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.