“Are you going to have any more babies?”
How could such a simple, and innocent question, hurt me to the core?
I wouldn’t have fathomed this three years-ago; because in my early 20’s, it felt like I was bombarded with questions of when my husband and I would procreate. It really did become a harmless question…until I began to have my own babies.
Truthfully, this isn’t a harmless question to my anymore. I was diagnosed with postpartum depression after my second son was born, and the thought of having another baby terrifies me to the core.
It terrifies me because I was so depressed with unsafe thoughts constantly rattling around in my head.
It terrifies me because my postpartum depression was so strong that I didn’t want to smile for my babies.
It terrifies me because disappearing and never coming back felt stronger with each passing day.
It terrifies me because I’ve come so far with my PPD, and the thought of starting all over again feels like a nightmare.
This wasn’t the plan, this wasn’t my plan; having postpartum depression wasn’t supposed to happen to me. I wasn’t supposed to feel robbed of my life and a prisoner in my own body. This wasn’t the way things were supposed to go. I shouldn’t feel afraid to have another baby.
Yet, this is all true. This is my life. I am afraid to have another baby.
It’s the bittersweet realization that I’ve come to: I am done having babies, it’s what’s best for my mental state, so please, don’t ask me when I am having more.
I will smile and politely tell you that we do not plan to have any more babies, that our family is complete; I will quickly change the subject, but in my heart, I will silently weep for the baby that I will never get to hold.