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I had my children just 17 months apart. I was very overwhelmed with two kids under two and a husband deployed to Iraq. Our son has some major, at that point unknown medical issues we were trying to figure out. Having any more kids was going to have to wait a few years.

I was born in 1975 with a birth defect known as Bladder Exstrophy. All you need to know about it is that it involves your bladder and kidneys and is now easily treated at childbirth. Due to this condition, I also have Hydronephrosis (hardening of the kidneys), so I wasn’t even sure I could have children.

Some people use birth control to avoid pregnancy. We just didn’t move to a new house until we wanted another child. Every time we moved to a new house we got pregnant and before that, even if we tried, we couldn’t get pregnant. Even with our first child the pregnancy came after a move to the first home we owned and three months worth of fertility medicine. Three and a half years passed between the first child and the second. We moved to a new home and at last we were expectin

By Eva Witesman I was carrying my sixth pregnancy—which ultimately ended in the happy birth of my son, William—and watching my family as they dealt with my physical and emotional absence. I observed how all of us (me, my husband Owen, and our three daughters) were afraid to hope. After a miscarriage and two stillbirths, my family was weary of sadness and wary of loss. My last stillbirth—at 34 weeks gestation—had occurred not long before we became pregnant with William.

Using keen eagle-eyed mommy skill, I kept tabs on my toddler as he played in a new friend’s backyard, while I breastfed my 7-month-old son. Quietly, I looked around the room, taking in all these new people I had met several minutes ago. Eight ladies gathered, corralling little ones, while we soaked up the rare occasion to talk.

I was 31 when my husband and I married, and I felt an urgency to have our children right away and close together. I always knew during each pregnancy that another would be coming, like I was getting a spiritual preview. During my fourth pregnancy, we knew very clearly that there would be a fifth. I was wearing down. The idea of a fifth pregnancy made me exhausted, but I knew it was supposed to happen. When I was expecting number five, the thought of a sixth pregnancy filled m

I always thought I would have three children. I didn’t particularly want three children, I just felt that’s how many I would have. I married relatively late (for an LDS woman, at least) and had my daughter at age 29. My son was born two and a half years later. As he was growing, I started to realize that my daughter had some delays and issues.

I never thought about children in my youth, unlike many girls I met in sorority who knew exactly how many they wanted to have in the future. I was quite caught up in a demanding career, which I was happy to give up when marriage came along in 1949. But when I had my first child, I was immediately hungry for more―not consciously pursuing it, but ready.

There I was in the doctor’s office looking at a monitor confirming a quintuplet pregnancy. After years of infertility during which I spent every spare minute thinking about having babies, it was unbelievable to all of us, including the doctor. It sadly didn’t end well. The babies were born at 21 weeks gestation, and passed away one by one. My husband and I were devastated, but we knew we wanted to try again—this time in a much more controlled way.

I’ve always wanted a large family. Knowing that a mortal body is part of God’s plan, I had always felt so awed at the prospect of providing bodies to some of God’s children. Birth and the Atonement of Christ are so closely linked—blood, water, work—that pregnancy and childbirth have always felt like a sacrament. Marriage was quickly followed by one, then two, then three beautiful children.

“There’s one missing.” The message, though inaudible, was quite clear. It struck some misgivings, though on the whole provided a sense of welcome relief. We had been vacillating for months about whether and when to add another child to our family. We had three inquisitive, delightful, exhausting, entertaining, challenging children already.

My own childbearing years were, according to me, over before they began. I married at 23 and decided, with my husband, to get pregnant at 25, as if that were how it works—that I could make something happen merely by deciding to. I was never someone who just knew they always wanted to be a mother but the desire, in the beginning, was in me.

I called my non-member dad when I was 21 to tell him that I was going to get married. His response was, “Are you pregnant?” “Well….yes,” I said, “but that is beside the point.” We were married by our bishop in August, just three months after the proposal and five months after we met. Quick to say the least.

It was a conscious decision that my husband and I agreed on—for my health and sanity. It all began at 15 years old, when I began my menstrual cycle and my pediatrician knew something was off with my reproductive system. Each cycle began every 14 days, lasting one full week and always heavy. Meaning my body never ovulated. That was the first time a doctor told me I’d struggle to conceive.

I turned 42 this year. I also had a hysterectomy just before my birthday. It was hard to come to terms with, but I chose quality of life over pain, misery, and the possibility of ever having kids. I’m single, but I had always wanted kids, or at least the option of them. In 2013, I was diagnosed with fibroids. I ended up having benign adenomyoma tumors.