By Trina Caudle 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 me with dread. No more. Additionally, as I went through five full-term pregnancies in seven years, the “pregnancy brain fog” got worse each time. All I wanted to do was sleep for nine months. It eventually became debilitating enough that I had to get a prescription for antidepressants. The last time, I was attempting to homeschool our kindergartener, manage the preschooler and toddler, and still nurse an infant while being pregnant again. I finally told my husband that I wanted to stop having children and start raising the ones we already had. I have been so relieved not to experience any more pregnancies. As soon as my youngest outgrew the baby gear, it was gone. I couldn’t get rid of it fast enough. My daughters are now ages 11 down to 4, and this phase is so much nicer for me than the baby phase! I love raising our children with a clear mind and my own energy level that can (mostly) keep up with them. I love their independence, and that I can be independent with them!

By Katie Staker 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. People hear quintuplets and always ask the same thing, “How many embryos did you transfer?” (It didn’t help that we got pregnant the same year as Octomom.) The answer was none. We had used a procedure called IUI, not IVF as was assumed. The main difference is that the eggs never leave your body with IUI. We were told we could have a chance at multiples but only one egg was measuring mature when we completed the procedure. Thus the surprise. We went on to have three successful pregnancies and one miscarriage with IVF. We were extremely cautious, only using one embryo at a time. Even that resulted in identical twin boys after the embryo split during what would technically be my fourth pregnancy. They were preceded by a daughter and followed by a son. The miracle in all of this, besides my children, is that my husband was working for a company with an insurance plan that covered IVF four times in a lifetime. That kind of coverage is unheard of in most companies. I know the Lord provided a way for us to have the children we so desired, knowing we would struggle. There was plenty of work to be done on our end. Shots, three-hour drives to and from appointments, sickness, and premature twin babies born at 30 weeks. Choosing to use our last covered round of IVF was a difficult choice after the twins, but I knew we had to try. During my last pregnancy, we told each other that as soon as he was born healthy we’d be done having kids. There is one remaining frozen embryo in DC. Every child we have was a frozen embryo from the first round of IVF that brought us our daughter—seven years ago next week. All of our kids were conceived the same day and are technically the same age. Wild. I told my husband I couldn’t make any decisions during the postpartum months, so once again we paid the frozen storage fee that we have paid (and it has gone up) each year. My baby turned one and I said, “He’s such a good baby, maybe we need one more.” But as my baby grew, so did my other children. Their needs changed. They had more individual desires and specific things that needed my focus. My husband went back to school. My daughter went to Kindergarten. And my twins, one of whom has Cerebral Palsy, started going to preschool. Life became increasingly busy. I became a mean mom. A stressed mom. A constantly-at-my-wits-end type of mom. And I didn’t like it. The time came and went when I would normally start the IVF process again. It was weird not to be trying. It still feels painful knowing there is an embryo frozen that is a chance at life. I know not every embryo becomes a baby—I had an IVF miscarriage after my daughter. But when you have Hypothyroidism, Hashimotos, and PCOS you don’t have many chances at making life. And though I’m sick the entire time, have a low platelet count, premature deliveries, and other issues surrounding delivery, I still love feeling a baby move inside me and I adore nursing. I love babies. All the babies. I’d take them all. I think that’s why we were blessed with Quintuplets first. All the little spirits that need a body, I’ll take them. But I also love my kids who are here. The ones who need me, whole and healthy, to help guide their days. And so it became a quality over quantity choice. We could go for one more, or we could pour every ounce of our best effort into the ones we have. In truth, I feel like Heavenly Father listens to our desires and wants us to work it out. I feel like I have been given the opportunity to say, “This is what I’d like to do.” I have received a sweet and peaceful response—not a yes or no answer. Just feelings of love and a desire to cherish and be better for the children I have now. We have decided not to pursue having any more children through our tried and true path of IVF, but that doesn’t mean that we’d be upset if things fell into place for us to conceive naturally one day. I’m not counting on it, but Heavenly Father knows we are open to it and that is all that matters.

By Villate  Brown McKitrick 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. Her toddlerhood was difficult. Both births had been hard on me physically, and my daughter needed so much attention and care that I thought maybe it would not be a good idea to have another baby. Once I made that decision, I felt so relieved that I wouldn’t have to go through the discomforts of pregnancy, childbirth, and dealing with a newborn again. Shortly after, my husband got a new job in another state. He had to start right away, so I was left to prepare to move across the country. I had been pregnant or nursing during our previous moves and this time I was grateful not to have to worry about that, at least. A few weeks before we were due to leave for our new home, I was taking my children somewhere in the car. I looked back to check the rear window and saw both of my little ones sitting there in their car seats. Suddenly a thought came to me: “Where’s the other one?” The impression was so clear and strong that I felt for a second that I had somehow left one of my children behind. At that moment I knew there was another child waiting for us. It took several months for me to come to terms with that as we were trying to settle into a new environment and my daughter’s behaviors became more stressful and demanding. My husband said that he would be happy to have another child and just as happy with the two we had, so it was my choice. After a lot of agonizing, I told the Lord that I would give it one month. If I was meant to have another baby, I would have to get pregnant during that time. Otherwise, I would be a mother of two children forevermore. I immediately became pregnant. As soon as my precious little boy was born, I felt that our family was complete and there would be no more children. I didn’t feel sad about it, just certain. He has been a joy, so I am very grateful that he came to us. As my body has been changing now that I am in my later 40s, I haven’t felt any regret or longing for one more. I welcome the end of my period and–though I wish I still had the smooth skin of my youth–look forward to the next phase of my life as a woman.

By Nonie Nelson Sorensen 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. I really enjoyed my children, and after bearing 11 in 14 years (short of one week), I decided I should have a full dozen. I was 41 at the time, and in fact we had had one miscarriage. When the twelfth did not arrive in the usual time slot, I grieved for him, but was soon surprised by an early menopause at age 43. I continued to wish for a brief time, but was reconciled by the abundance we already had, plus a little overwhelmed at the magnitude and diversity of the work and plans required to keep everything under control, and everyone happy and productive. I’ve been surprised how many of my earlier ancestors had eleven children. At the same time, we have both been blessed to have had many demands on our creative abilities, keeping us too busy, but happy to have those outlets. I am sorry for the young women today who would like more children, but are forced to have smaller families due to the huge cost of just the hospital for one child, plus all the complications of a car chair for each child, all requiring the cost of a very large car, etc. Our children are the great love of our lives, and bring us so much pride and love, and fun and awe. I am now 93 years old, and I’m grateful to have lived in an era when it was possible and practical to produce such joy and blessings for ourselves.

By Sarah M. Webb 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. She came to two very young, inexperienced, and scared people, but solidified us in our place in this world and our place with our God. We weren’t going to church, but that quickly changed. We made a commitment that our life together was going to be for her good and for possible children to come. We were sealed in the Denver, Colorado temple two years later. With that our second child came, semi-planned. Still poor, but very much in love, we welcomed another daughter to our family. Drastic decisions had to be made. Can we really survive on our income? No. So back to Utah we moved and my hubby went back to school. I thought we were poor before, oh was I wrong. Living on borrowed money from family, church assistance and Pell Grants, we (my hubby) got his Bachelor’s degree. Two children and my better half in school―I was more like a mother to three. Prosperity, kind of, came after the diploma. Homes were bought and friends were made. Time for a third? Daughter? Sure. She came and we were complete. And daddy was the lone cheese trying to make it in a feminine world. Poor guy. After a move to northern Utah and the dot com crashes, with accompanying housing crash, we found ourselves making the trek to Virginia. The Lord promised us in the temple that this was His will and so like Nephi, off we went. We had unbelievable prosperity. My eldest daughter graduated with honors and we continued with our lives. Raising our merry band of hormones. Did I mention we were also foster parents? Yep, to 22 children. Mostly all girls. Poor daddy. Just a few months after our eldest graduated, off to BYU she went. Mom was an emotional wreck (but not in front of my girl―she needed to feel bolstered and ready for adulthood). Just a short four months later we were on a Skype call with our now son-in-law, who asked to marry our girl. All of our answers to prayers told us yes about him, so we wholeheartedly said “YES!!!” The wedding was the following year, in May. Happy married couple. Never mind that my daughter was 19. This was the Lord’s will and they are very suited for each other. Oh boy do we love that boy. Two years later we are about to welcome our first grandchild to our family. What words can express what I feel inside? The only people that know are my Father and Mother in Heaven. I will not have any more children in this physical form. I know this. The hot flashes and night sweats confirm it. My children have now picked up my baton. With my second daughter just months away from high school graduation and my baby girl soon to enter middle school, I am beginning my grandma years. Am I afraid? A little. When we were foster parents, and we would gather with as many as seven girls in our home at one time, I couldn’t help but feel my Heavenly Parents cheering us on as we had stewardship over their precious children. Now I am embarking on a new perspective―watching my child become a mother. Watching her grow her family. Watching her tackle the ups and downs that adulthood brings when you include more than just your happy pair. Trying to stay quiet when she hurts and trying to give comfort, but not be a “smother.” 3 John 1:4 says, “I have no greater joy than to hear that my children walk in truth.” This sums it for me. I picked a man that loved me despite my flaws, we raised a family in love and now my children have a foundation that I lacked. My daughters have now taken my place and that is fine by me.

By Anonymous 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. So the years of infertility that followed brought a torrent and complexity of emotions unlike anything I had before faced. The initial hope gradually diminished, then eventually was all but lost. I grappled with the sensation of being crushed, over and over again by all the pain and bitterness and anger that accompanies loss. Then finally I chose to take control of my life again. To act and not be acted upon. In order to do this, I had to reset the parameters of what it meant to have hope and faith. I reconfigured that new definition in an entirely new form of acceptance, and an awareness that I could not control all things—an illusion that, until this experience, I’d not yet seen for what it was. I set on a new and complicated mission as I made attempts to master the very fine but elusive art of letting go. I examined myself to discern what I could control, which led to a development of gratitude for the things I had instead of focusing on what I didn’t have. This ultimately became my saving grace and led to a return of my power. But in so doing, I had to come to terms with the fact that I might never have children, even deciding at times that I most certainly never would, just to have something concrete in my life and future. I found peace with this new knowledge, for to me it was definite knowledge and a fact I sealed up inside of me. I was never going to have a child and I was ok with that. Happy, even. And then I became pregnant and all I knew to be fact and truth shattered to the floor. My complex emotions took on even greater levels of intricacy: I now simultaneously felt desire and non-desire for a child. And thus it has been ever since. I had that child at age 29 in spite of the science, but the feeling of being at the end of my childbearing years never changed. I had a child but I still thought of myself as someone who could never become pregnant. I think many people who go through infertility carry that with them always, no matter what happens in their life. I’ll never understand why or how I had a child. There are times where I accept him as the gift and miracle that he is, and other times where I feel certain God let one slip through the cracks, and we all just have to make do. I’m 37 now, and my son is eight. My husband and I sort of tried for another but I never really believed it to be possible. I never expected it to happen and it never did, a result most often met with relief. Relief because I wasn’t at all sure it was something I really wanted, and also because it fit well with my internal reality. I could not have children. Having something be impossible and then having it happen anyway changes the way a person thinks about life. For me, one became more than enough. But I find myself wondering those silly things—what would it be like to have another? Would I do a better job the second time around, as I often hear? Wouldn’t it be nice for him to have a sibling? So here I am, dancing that difficult dance of happy acceptance with what I’ve been given and wondering if there’s more. I feel torn about it almost all the time and I imagine I always will. Most of me understands that I am and always have been at the end of my childbearing years. But there is a part that must wait for the science to catch up, and then I can move forward.

By Jolene “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. It seemed my husband and I were never quite on the same page for the timing of one more. Sometimes he was ready and I hesitated. Then I was ready and he was not. But here was a clear answer, one we could use to soldier forward in spite of doubts. It was not lost on us that the prompting came to me during Family Home Evening. Six months later, one year later, two years later and still the missing one had not shown up. The gap was getting bigger and we were getting older. We wanted our children to enjoy each other as kids altogether at home; we wanted to be strong enough physically and young enough emotionally to meet the demands of their teenage years. Now the question between us became, is there a deadline beyond which we don’t want to keep trying? Do we worry about consequences we envision, or do we trust the vision of the message giver? Almost three years later we welcomed a beautiful baby daughter, but we had set a deadline. Had we doubted like Thomas? Feared our mortal shortcomings? This pregnancy slid in just under the wire. I was thrilled! Maybe this was our complete family. Birth control commenced again. When this daughter was about three years old, and I was thirty-eight, I began wondering if I should really be done having children. I felt complete, but was this the exhaustion or the joy of motherhood speaking to me? My patriarchal blessing encouraged me not to shut out choice spirits from our home. How could I know I was not doing that? Should I let go of the birth control (a proxy of my need for control) and trust the Lord to make the best decision for our family? I spent the next ten years grappling with this. It became a crucial question in my faith journey.  How do I know when the Lord wants me to make a decision and when he desires my full trust in him? Adding more complication, this was not my decision alone. A child deserves two welcoming parents. Over those years I was never given another message about family size. Yet, as the end of my childbearing years approached, stabs of guilt plagued me. Had I not had enough faith to let go of control? I imagined lost posterity, yet also felt closure and contentment with the children we had. Oh, the enigmas of Gospel living. In the end menopause signaled no more opportunity, no more decisions. At least not about children. Had I failed a test? I have come to believe God gives us many opportunities to succeed. An eternity of decisions spreads before me. Mortality means they won’t all be correct. God is providing me much more practice. And I keep my heart open for that sweet guiding voice that can speak so clearly.

By Lyz Schulte 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. My pregnancies were relatively uncomplicated, my deliveries quick and natural. I had an easy time conceiving and never miscarried. I breastfed each child for a year. I knew I was really lucky. Baby number four came while I was back in college to finish my degree. Everything started out fine, but soon exhaustion, back issues, and stress added up and I had to drop out of classes and go on bedrest. I spent my time out of my house in a wheelchair and my time in my house resting. I had to have help with cooking and laundry and childcare. My doctor said my baby was fine, but my body was so worn out it wanted to end the pregnancy. We worked to make sure that didn’t happen. Watching this, my husband grew more and more concerned. He finally confessed, “I don’t think we should have any more children after this.” I was devastated. I wasn’t even through this pregnancy, and we were already talking about it being the last one. We discussed it and prayed and consulted my doctor. He agreed with my husband. I mourned. I cried. My five-year-old son told me he never wanted me to be pregnant again because it made me so sick. I felt awful. I prayed and asked if this was really God’s will and I got a gentle, undeniable yes. And I wept some more. Baby four was born peacefully, but not naturally. She had allergies, so I couldn’t nurse her. It seemed like all my joys in early motherhood were being taken from me, not only now, but for the rest of my mortal life. It was crushing. Emotional healing was difficult. It was three years before I could refrain from crying when I thought about having no more children. It took six for the ache to go away. My sorrow was isolating. I had four beautiful children. I had no scars on my body, no bills from infertility treatment. I had lost no one. The loss of future dreams was so painful to me, but I felt like I had to be so careful who I shared my sorrow with. I didn’t want to hurt anyone who had been through more painful things than I had. I’ve reached a place of acceptance. My youngest is now seven, and watching my four children grow is joyful. My family feels whole. And when I wish for more infants I remind myself that eternity is about Parenthood. I’m not finished giving new life. And I can still participate in the plan of salvation in other ways.

By Emily Anthon 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. It took more than four years of pain to finally have a doctor take me and my pain serious enough to address this concern. When I first met with the surgeon for a consultation, I thought a hysterectomy was only a “worst case scenario,” like the fibroids were really bad and then this was the only option. The surgeon explained what fibroid removal would entail, how he would cut them out and then reconstruct my uterus. Any possible pregnancy would be extremely high-risk due to the size of the “fibroid.” When he said you need to strongly consider a hysterectomy, I was stunned. I thought this surgery would give me back my life. I didn’t think it would mean giving up my fertility. Being single in my 40’s wasn’t my plan when I was younger. As kids in Primary, we’re raised singing songs about being mothers and having families. In Young Women, we had lessons on temple marriages. Sure some people are still holding out for those dreams. I had to reevaluate what was truly important for my future. During this experience I found myself wondering if we aren’t doing ourselves and our youth a disservice. If we shouldn’t offer the other side of the coin to these circumstances. Could my ability to accept all of this be easier if I had been prepared for how to deal with fertility issues or being single in my 40s? I have had many dear friends adopt and should I get to that point in my life, then that’s how I’ll add to my family. This experience also happened during a nationwide healthcare debate that included female reproductive healthcare. Instead of being private or silent about my struggle, I took to social media and shared my whole struggle publicly. Not only were people supportive, but so many other women who had struggled with similar issues found insight and were able to talk to their doctors. I wanted to open that dialogue and found so many other women felt the same way.

By Bethany 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. Fast forward ten years, and two miscarriages later, I finally got a diagnosis for Celiac Disease. Celiac affects your fertility, believe it or not. But after going on a gluten-free diet, I was able to get pregnant and stay pregnant, twice! My husband and I have been blessed with two daughters, four years apart. Our miracles from Heavenly Father. I suffered another miscarriage in between. With so much loss and fear of loss came postpartum depression and anxiety. I was a mess, a complete paranoid, anxious, and suicidal mess. I wanted to be the best mother for my children, but didn’t know how. At one point I was considering trying for another baby, but a couple months into it I suffered an emotional and mental breakdown. That’s when I willingly decided to get the help my soul so badly needed. This was also the point in my marriage that my husband and I both agreed that I should no longer try to have more children of our own—for my health. Not long after that decision, my body went into early perimenopause: I’m 34. Heavenly Father has been preparing me and leading me through all of this. Every trial that came, I knew He had a plan for me and everything would work out. I hold so much faith in His plan for myself and my family. I’m definitely done childbearing, but I’m not done child-rearing. There are children out there that deserve love and my husband and I have a lot of love to give, to our own children and our future adopted children.

By Maria Miles The end snuck up on me. I had dedicated a decade of my life to parenting, which included my three birth children and a foster son of more than two years. I found myself in the hospital on a snowy February morning giving birth to my fourth child. Labor was quick and he came sooner than I expected. As soon as he was delivered and laying on my chest, tears began. I never cried when my other children were born. But I wasn’t crying out of joy or excitement for this new babe. I wasn’t crying because of the physical pain that comes with unmedicated birth. I was crying because I knew, instantly and deeply, that I would never be pregnant again. Actually, I guess the end wasn’t as sneaky as I sometimes claim. The signs were all around me. My husband had declared that five was enough. Four birth children and one foster son we were planning to adopt filled up our house. My body was getting tired of pregnancies. Being pregnant at 23 was very different than being pregnant at 32. My kids were becoming more demanding as they got older. One child had serious speech issues. Our foster son had a whole host of issues that occupied the vast majority of my time. The oldest were involved in sports and dance that took increasingly more time. We were feeling stretched and more stretched as my belly grew with this fourth pregnancy. I had always imagined myself having six or eight or ten or even twelve kids. How could I be done now? My assurance that the end was here and that the end was necessary came slowly over the three years since the birth of my fourth. Little moments where I knew this was it and this was good. First came the heartbreak of losing our foster son. So now, not only would we not have the twelve kids I had envisioned, we wouldn’t have the five kids in my home. We would only have our four birth children. Only. Only. To a lot of people where we live four seems like more than enough. But to me four seemed like less than half of what I should have been having. Wasn’t I capable? Wasn’t I strong enough to do this? Wasn’t I good enough? My dream had always been to imitate my favorite childhood book, “Cheaper by the Dozen.” If I wasn’t a mom to two handfuls of kids, what was I? I began to explore what my strengths were and what my dreams were and slowly life after the end came into focus. I have loved being home with my kids. I believe it has been a gift to me more than it has been a gift to them. I will always treasure those moments snuggling my newborns, chasing my toddlers, going on adventures and just being there with them, but I’m ready for the next stage in my life. And I’ve rediscovered that there’s more to me than being Mommy. I’ve started chasing a new dream. This dream doesn’t stop me from being a mom, but it does open up new facets and dimensions of myself. I have felt reinvigorated and reenergized as I have remembered my other skills, dreams, talents, and visions. Like so many things in life, I discovered that the end was really, after all, a beginning.

By Julia Bringhurst Blake Painted by Julia Bringhurst Blake I love babies. When I was dating my husband, we agreed we would have at least six kids. After having four in six years, we were in over our heads and had to reassess that plan. When our youngest was five we had moved across the country to Boston and were living in a very small house, but I began to want another baby. After some prayer and thinking, we decided to have another. It was the most magical time. My other kids were in school and I enjoyed every minute of the pregnancy and early years. That fifth child was adored and snuggled constantly by all of us. At this point I knew I would have one more so he would have a buddy, but given the cost of living and everything logistical, I was pretty sure we’d stop at six. When that sixth came I was filled with the same joy the others had brought—perhaps even more thinking it was my last. I began to call myself a baby drunk to my neighbors so they would understand why I had so many kids. I held on to every tiny moment and was so happy, but at the same time I was deeply and profoundly sad to be done with this stage of my life. I did not want to be done. My husband and I had many long talks and finally took the decision to the temple—not something we ever do. Decisions typically come easy. I left the temple and we both forgot about the issue. Months later we realized this was probably our answer. In the meantime, God had given me a new obsession—something amazing and unexpected to take the place of babies. In the space of five years I went from my first painting to being a professional artist selling over 50 paintings a year. Instead of sleep deprivation from teething and feedings, I was willingly giving up sleep to paint and I no longer mourn those sweet newborn moments.