Mindful Mama Journey

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.

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.”

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You don’t have to carry this alone.

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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, these prompts are for you.

Download 5 free, typeable journal prompts designed to help you reflect, release, and find a little calm—one page at a time.

👉 Download your free prompts here.

While Navigating Secondary Infertility

When Family Asks, “When Are You Having Another?”

About a year ago, my husband, our daughter, and I went to Hawaii over the summer with my in-laws (my husband’s parents). At the time, my daughter was four, and my sister-in-law—who didn’t come on the trip—was pregnant with her second child. Naturally, at some point during the trip, my parents-in-law asked, “So… when are you having another?”

That question stopped me in my tracks. Should I answer honestly—and if I did, would I include all the details? Or should I stay vague and give a light, playful response?

I went with the second option. I don’t remember my exact wording. It was probably something quick and dismissive like, “We’ll see.” What I do remember very clearly is my heart racing and my face getting hot. I couldn’t answer the question the way I really wanted to.

By the time we took that trip to Hawaii, my husband and I had already been trying for about a year and four months.

Why Questions About Having Another Child Can Be So Hard

My daughter is the first grandchild on my husband’s side. When my parents-in-law ask about when we’ll be adding more kids to our family, I know it comes from a good place. They’re excited to be in their “grandparent era.”

They love buying my daughter gifts, making her laugh, FaceTiming with her, and watching videos of her soccer and t-ball games. Their excitement is genuine.

For a long time, though, that question stung because I didn’t know how to answer it. My husband and I never openly told our close friends or family that we had started trying for a second child. We didn’t want the outward pressure—the constant check-ins or expectations.

But because we kept that part of our life private, no one really knew how long we had been trying.

Unless someone has gone through secondary infertility, I think it’s hard to truly comprehend how complex it can be. Over nearly three years of navigating secondary infertility, I’ve experienced what it’s like to feel deeply grateful and deeply hurt at the same time—for the child I had, and for the child I was still waiting for.

The Emotional Weight of Secondary Infertility

Whenever someone asked, “Do you want another?” during our first year—and then into our second year—of trying, it felt like reopening a wound.

That question carried me right back to the months of disappointment after negative test following negative test. It reminded me of the exhaustion: tracking ovulation by peeing on sticks, analyzing my body during my fertile window, and eventually giving myself shots when we decided to move forward with IUIs.

Because no one really knew we were trying, no one knew how much work I was putting into trying to conceive another baby—as if effort alone could control the outcome (read more about that here).

Being asked this question sometimes felt unfair. If I answered truthfully about what I was going through, did the person asking really want to know? Did they want to hear about ovulation sticks, tracking cycles, or the late-night conversations my husband and I had behind closed doors?

How much information was too much? Or were they just looking for a simple answer? The problem was that nothing about secondary infertility felt simple.

How I Responded to Questions About Having Another Child

During the first year and into the second year of trying, I kept my answers vague and short. “We’ll see” became my default response.

Eventually, though, I grew tired of answering that way. It didn’t actually reflect how I felt. People who haven’t experienced secondary infertility don’t always realize how complicated this space can be (more about that here). You can be deeply grateful for the child you have while simultaneously grieving and longing for another.

Both feelings can exist at the same time, and I found myself wanting to convey that truth—at least in small ways.

Keeping everything inside so the person on the receiving end didn’t have to feel the weight of secondary infertility wasn’t helping me anymore.

Setting Boundaries Around Questions About Another Child

Now that I’ve been navigating secondary infertility for almost three years, I’m much more open to answering the question, “Do you want another?” more honestly—though it took me about two and a half years to get here.

A few weeks ago, we visited my husband’s family for the holidays. While my father-in-law was on the phone with one of his cousins, the topic of grandchildren came up. I overheard my father-in-law say something like, “I would love more grandchildren, but I don’t know if they want more.”

He wasn’t talking directly to me, so I didn’t respond. But if he had been, my answer probably still would have started with, “We’ll see.” The difference now is that I might add a little more context—something like how we’ve already been trying for a few years.

If you’re in this situation too, you’re not alone. It’s okay if your answer is still “we’ll see.” It’s okay if you’re not ready to explain yourself. And while this question may always carry some weight, I truly believe that one day, it won’t sting quite as much.

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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.

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.

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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.

Starting Fertility Treatments While Working Time

After a year and a half of trying, my husband and I finally decided to make an appointment with a fertility clinic. Both of us work, so we cleared our schedules for phone calls and in-person appointments. At first, it felt exciting—like starting treatment would bring us one step closer to growing our family.

My Daily Routine Before Fertility Treatments

Even before starting fertility treatments, our days were already full. As a substitute teacher, I wake up early to get my daughter ready for school—helping her pick out clothes, fixing her hair, and preparing breakfast.

Before having my daughter, I was a full-time teacher. After she was born, I chose to continue teaching part-time as a substitute because of the flexibility. I can work when I want, and if I have an appointment, I don’t have to accept a subbing job. At the time, I thought this flexibility would be perfect for fertility treatments—I could go to appointments whenever I needed.

What to Expect During Fertility Appointments

After our initial phone calls with the clinic, my husband and I went in for testing to check for any “easy” fixes. For my age, my egg count was above average. Ultrasounds showed a thick uterine lining, blood tests were normal, and my fallopian tubes were clear.

On my husband’s end, the sperm test showed low motility, meaning some of his sperm weren’t great swimmers—they weren’t reaching the egg effectively.

At first, getting these results felt like progress. Finally, we had answers. With guidance from our doctor, we decided to try intrauterine insemination (IUI). During an IUI, sperm is “washed” so that only the healthiest swimmers are placed directly into the uterus during ovulation.

Challenges of Balancing Fertility Treatments and Work

As a substitute teacher, I could technically schedule appointments without conflict. But that flexibility came with drawbacks. I don’t get paid on the days I don’t work, and most of my appointments were in the morning during rush hour, often on the opposite side of the city. After appointments around 9 a.m., it was too late to accept a subbing job, meaning a full day without pay. As a sub, I already make less than half of what I earned when I was teaching full-time.

When we started our first round of IUI, I didn’t realize how many appointments would be involved. I needed frequent ultrasounds to track egg development and determine when to start giving myself shots—Gonal-F to help develop multiple eggs and Ovidrel to trigger ovulation.

Our first IUI wasn’t successful, so we decided to try a second round. We were hopeful—after all, even “natural” conception isn’t guaranteed. But the same challenges persisted: driving through traffic, missing work, and not earning money. Our second IUI also wasn’t successful.

Emotional and Physical Impact of Fertility Treatments

By the end of that second round, we had been trying for over two years. I was physically and emotionally drained—and honestly, kind of over it.

Emotionally, I would start each IUI cycle feeling excited and hopeful. But as the two-week wait came to an end, I’d notice my usual symptoms—sore boobs, pink discharge, heightened sense of smell, nausea—that meant my period was coming. I’d try to convince myself these were early pregnancy signs, but I know my body. Deep down, I knew what was coming.

Physically, I was exhausted. Tired of driving through morning traffic. Tired of not getting paid on appointment days. Tired of giving myself shots. And tired of sneaking off to a quiet room during family gatherings to inject medication—we started our second round of IUI during the winter holidays.

After that, my husband and I decided that if we pursued any future treatments—whether another round of IUI or IVF—it would have to be during school breaks so I could better balance work and treatment.

Practical Strategies for Managing Work, Parenting, and Fertility

 If you’re thinking about fertility treatments, a few practical things helped me:

• Plan for travel time. Traffic isn’t fun, especially when you’re juggling multiple appointments each week.
• Consider your work schedule. If you work remotely or in an office, half-days might be easier—but commuting can still be draining.
• Use flexibility wisely. Being a substitute allowed me to attend appointments, but it also meant losing income.

Final Thoughts: You’re Not Failing—Fertility Treatments Are Hard

I don’t know if I’ll do another round of IUI, and I still wonder about IVF. I don’t know all the specifics, but I do know it’s a much more involved process.

What I do know is this: managing fertility treatments while working is not easy. But with planning, realistic expectations, and a supportive partner, it is possible.

If you’re trying to juggle work, parenting, and fertility treatments, and feeling stretched thin—you’re not failing. This is just hard.

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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.

Living with the Uncertainty of Secondary Infertility

About two to three times a year, my husband has to travel out of town for work conferences, meetings, or retreats. When he’s gone, I’m “solo parenting” and in charge of everything—cooking, cleaning, school drop-offs and pick-ups, and putting our daughter to bed. Even when it’s only for three or four days, solo parenting is exhausting (hats off to all the single parents).

When my husband came home from his most recent trip and we were all reunited at the dinner table, I remember thinking, this is perfect. My husband was being silly, doing anything he could to make our daughter laugh. In that moment, it dawned on me that this might be it—that we might not physically grow our family with another child.

But this time, when I had that thought, there was no bitterness. Just happiness and gratitude for what I already have.

Don’t get me wrong, though. It took me a long time to get here.

If you’re experiencing secondary infertility, I feel you—and I see you.

The Emotional Rollercoaster of Secondary Infertility

Secondary infertility is a complicated experience. When my husband and I first started trying to conceive again, I often felt opposing emotions at the same time. I felt overwhelming gratitude for my daughter, while also feeling deep sadness that I hadn’t conceived another child yet.

If this sounds like you, know that these feelings are common—and you are not alone.

The Fear of Not Knowing If You’ll Ever Be Pregnant Again

In the first few months of trying, I was excited. I wanted so badly to see a positive pregnancy test again and to recreate the feelings I had when I was pregnant with my first.

But as time went on, that excitement started to fade. I began to wonder if I’d ever be pregnant again. That thought scared me. I had read that in order to conceive, you should “believe in your family growing”—almost like manifesting the future. Instead of saying if I get pregnant, you’re supposed to say when I get pregnant.

I remember nervously thinking, Would wondering if I’ll ever get pregnant hurt my chances of conceiving?

It sounds silly now, but secondary infertility made my thoughts spiral in ways I never expected.

Letting Go of Control During Secondary Infertility

I used to track everything—using ovulation sticks and paying close attention to my body—but after about two years, I was exhausted both mentally and emotionally. So I let go. I stopped trying to control the outcome of becoming pregnant.

Instead, I focused on what I could control: staying active, eating a balanced diet, and doing what I needed to do to stay present and be a good mom to my daughter.

I think this is the first time I’m admitting it out loud, but I’ve accepted that my family of three may stay exactly that—a family of three. And while I’ve accepted that reality, I would still graciously and happily welcome another child into my life. I just don’t live in constant focus on trying to get pregnant anymore.

Finding Peace While Living with Secondary Infertility

That’s the thing about secondary infertility—it’s possible to feel more than one emotion at once. Except now, instead of feeling joy and grief side by side, I feel joy, love, and openness. Openness to the life I have, and openness to the possibility of expanding our family with another child if that’s what happens.

Practicing gratitude and staying present is how I got to where I am today—by noticing the small, ordinary moments that make up our life now, and choosing to live fully in the life in front of me.

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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.