When are we done having children?

It’s a question I’ve been thinking about more since turning 30.

Not because I’m pregnant.

Not because I’m actively trying to have another baby.

But because somewhere along the way, I realized I wasn’t as okay with the idea of being “one and done” as I thought I was.

When I became a single mom, I mourned the idea of never having more children.

I know there are women who have babies in their mid to late 30s and beyond. I’m not against that at all. In fact, I know many women who have had beautiful, healthy pregnancies later in life.

But if I’m being honest, that wasn’t the timeline I pictured for myself.

I had my daughter when I was 27.

It felt perfect.

If life had gone according to plan, I probably would have had another child around 29.

But life didn’t go according to plan.

Her dad switched up.

We split up.

And suddenly the future I thought I was building disappeared.

I accepted that.

I accepted that my daughter would probably be my only child.

Or at least I thought I did.

The funny thing is, I even used to tell people I was one and done.

I truly believed it.

At least I think I did.

Looking back now, I wonder if I was saying it as much for myself as I was for everyone else.

Maybe if I said it enough, I’d finally accept it.

Maybe if I convinced everyone around me that my daughter was my only child, eventually I’d convince myself too.

Because the truth is, there was always a small part of me that hoped there would be more.

More bedtime stories.

More tiny baby clothes.

More first words.

More little feet running through the house.

And maybe, if I’m being completely honest, another chance to experience motherhood differently than I did the first time.

Not because I regret having my daughter.

Never that.

She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

But my experience becoming a mother wasn’t what I dreamed it would be.

I refuse to let that experience be what ruins motherhood for me forever.

I refuse to let a failed relationship decide the rest of my story.

Still, I find myself wondering…

What if there is another baby in my future?

What if there isn’t?

What if my daughter is my only child?

What if she isn’t?

Some days I’m completely at peace with not knowing.

Other days it hits me harder than I’d like to admit.

Especially now that I’m 30.

Because whether we like it or not, women are aware of time in a way that’s difficult to explain.

I used to tell myself 30 was my cutoff.

Then I turned 30.

Now I tell myself 35.

But what happens if I turn 35 and it’s still not the right time?

What happens if life takes another unexpected turn?

What happens if I’m still waiting for everything to line up?

I don’t know.

And that’s the part that scares me.

What makes it even more complicated is that I’m in a relationship now.

I know my boyfriend wants children at some point.

Truthfully, I can see it too.

I can see us getting married.

I can see us building a life together.

I can see us having a child one day.

But even that comes with its own fears.

Because while he wants children, he’s younger than me.

And he’s a man.

The reality is, he doesn’t hear the same clock ticking that I do.

Not because he doesn’t care.

Not because he wouldn’t listen.

But because he’s not the one laying awake doing the math.

If we get engaged…

If we get married…

If we buy a house…

If we wait until we’re financially ready…

If we wait until life settles down…

How old will I be then?

It’s not a conversation I have often.

Honestly, I don’t even know if he fully realizes it’s something I think about.

And I don’t want him to think I’m trying to rush our relationship.

Because I’m not.

If anything, becoming a single mom taught me the importance of not rushing.

I’ve learned what can happen when you build a future with the wrong person.

I understand the value of taking your time.

Of building something healthy.

Of making sure it’s right.

But that’s where the conflict lives.

Part of me wants to slow down.

Part of me knows slowing down is the right thing.

And another part of me knows time keeps moving whether I’m ready or not.

Maybe that’s what nobody prepares women for.

Not the fear of getting older.

The uncertainty.

The not knowing.

The wondering what your future family will look like.

The grieving of a timeline that never happened.

The hope that maybe your story isn’t finished yet.

For now, I don’t have the answer.

I don’t know if my daughter will be an only child.

I don’t know if there will be another baby.

I don’t know what my future family will look like.

What I do know is this:

I spent years convincing myself I was one and done.

The truth is, I wasn’t trying to convince everyone else.

I was trying to convince me.