By Darla We purchased it within months of our wedding. I passed by the nursery door every day for years, but it wasn’t the right time to be pregnant. Then the Divorce came. I took the crib with me. I couldn’t bear to leave it behind for the other wife and baby ready to fill it up. Lovingly packed away it rested in my bedroom closet, which I passed by every day. I still had Hope then. I was so young and I imagined having that dearly wanted child and raising her under the canopy of that beautiful maple crib. By the time I reached my mid-30s, I felt my biological clock turn on in ways I didn’t think possible. The ache for my child—it became an obsession, a feeling I had with every breath. The desire for motherhood was greater than anything I had ever experienced. The worst part? It wasn’t that I couldn’t, it’s that I didn’t have a husband. So I endured—the emptiness of aunthood. It’s not that I didn’t love and enjoy those nieces and nephews. But I wanted a child, my child, to love and raise. Another move to a new home and the crib no longer rested in my bedroom closet. The time had come for it to go away as I couldn’t bear to have it empty in my house anymore. I cried as it left in the back of a van, headed for another home where a first-time mom was about to give birth. The ache of that crib departure was devastating, especially because I began to lose the hope of motherhood. And then, the measurement of time that becomes all too real—I passed age 40 without marriage, without my crib, without my hopes of a husband and child to be mine. My patriarchal blessing is filled with insights about my future family. I felt empty, ashamed, wounded that I failed that promise. That my crib was somewhere else. I understand what it’s like to face the end of childbearing years. My journey there was not as I imagined. And as I’ve endured those pains of unfulfilled expectations, the dreams that never came true, I’ve had to reconcile what makes me a woman. Those were not easy times, but the wrestle has been worth it. I now know for certain that my children and husband are waiting for me. I have work to do here, but soon enough I will be a mom, raising my children under the canopy of heaven, true in the Faith that my Savior and Heavenly Father had a plan and helped me arrive at motherhood in the best possible way…right in the prime of my eternal childbearing years.

By Jan Nelson When our sixth child was born, our third boy, I remember feeling something I’d never felt before. Our family was complete. I’d had my last baby! Every other birth had been soon followed by a longing for the next one. This little boy might as well have been born sporting a onesie with “Caboose” printed on it! My pregnancies had not been difficult. We’d never set a number as to how many children we would have. I was still relatively young at 35 and infertility was not an issue, but I just knew we were through. Turned out that knowledge was the good and the bad news. The inevitable short season of new baby tears, which I had experienced five others times, took on a different flavor this time. Coming to grips with the new truth that I would never experience that amazing feeling of life moving within me, that this was the last time I would sense and see the miracle of my body creating sustenance for my child, that looking down at that angel face as I nursed and melting as a big grin broke the suction for a moment was almost over! I loved every bit of it—the nursing part so much, in fact, that I enjoyed the bond for a third-world period of time. As the years went by, the agony and the ecstasy of this reality slowly tipped in the direction of ecstasy . . . perhaps not ecstasy exactly, but of relief, of excitement for the next chapter of our lives, of reclaiming my body as best I could. Ten or so years later I realized how vested I was in my next chapter when my body started moving towards a physical reason for no more babies. I had a couple of “I might be pregnant” scares, and though we would have adjusted and reveled in a new addition, I can honestly say that was not the plan. Fast forward another few years and I recall the very night my husband and I drove out of our driveway and realized that all six of our children were in a “we’re not in charge” space!! Four were married and the youngest two were on missions, Caboose having left that very day. Again with the agony and ecstasy of life’s passages—sort of sad but also really happy all at once. There will always be agony and we live and learn, but the flip side of that is ecstasy and acceptance and peace. One of my favorite lines comes from something I read in my senior English class in an “Essay on Man,” by Alexander Pope: “Oh blindness to the future, kindly given.” What lies ahead? Not sure, not worried. I have some clues to life’s pattern of passages.

By Sarah I planned on having twelve kids. My patriarchal blessing promised they would “leap from my womb.” Then I married at age 37. We tried everything including IVF. My cycle had always been like clockwork and I ovulated as expected, but the truth was, my reproductive system was on its tail end. The whole process was pretty hopeless, but we were hopeful and we wanted to do all we could. During this time my husband was called as bishop and everyone assured me miracles would follow. On our second anniversary, pursuing adoption finally felt right and we jumped right in. We recruited friends to help make and distribute flyers and pass along cards. We joined a support group. We participated in adoption walks and took classes to qualify as foster parents. That was all very educational and fulfilling and faith-promoting. I’m extremely grateful for the friendships I made, but more importantly my relationship with Heavenly Father and the insight I received into his plan for me and his love for all his children. Finally, with less than a week’s notice, we adopted a little girl. She was perfect and regularly brings joy to all around her. My period was due about the same time she was born. I finally decided I better take a pregnancy test. The results were so shocking my husband insisted we take another. It was an easy pregnancy, but I experienced fear and anxiety like I’d never known. We gave birth to a little boy. With a series of complications and a hostile hospital staff, the birth experience did not go as hoped. After 24 hours of labor they told me my uterus was getting tired and I needed a c-section. The next couple of years continued to be a challenge despite the much appreciated support from friends and neighbors. My husband and I had a lot to work through. I think I was suffering a bit from postpartum depression, and PTSD related to my son’s birth. I finally came to understand that the birth was just as traumatic and painful for my husband as it was for me. After nearly two years of nursing, my period still hadn’t returned. Despite this, we felt the need to discuss contraception. I wasn’t interested in doing anything. I’d spent my whole life hoping for children and I couldn’t bring myself to consciously prevent. I couldn’t wrap my heart around that decision. I knew that God requires us to make decisions and act for ourselves, but so much of my reproductive life had felt out of my control anyway, I just prayed that whatever his will was, I’d be happy with it. Finally, after much prayer and discussion with my husband I accepted that my two children were enough and I could be content. As my friends were giving birth, I realized that I was no longer envious. After another year I went to the doctor and discovered I was going through early menopause. I came home relieved to have an answer. My two babies are total and complete miracles in every sense. One of the biggest challenges my husband and I faced, all through the process, was trying to be on the same page. Everything from IVF to contraception left me feeling emotional and confused. My husband was very involved in maintaining momentum and executing decisions. I couldn’t have gone through the hoops of adoption without his clearheaded and determined efforts. When I was in labor, he gave me a blessing that brought me peace. I turned to him when the doctors recommended a c-section. While working through the emotional roller coaster that ensued, and trying to decide if contraception was necessary, I found myself wanting to argue “my womb, my choice,” but as a covenant family I realized we had to be unified. He needed to feel safe as much as I did. My son was born strong and healthy, but he did have an unexplained wound on his head. When I see that scar I am reminded of the very real struggle we all went through to become a family. None of it would have been possible without our testimony and faith in Jesus Christ and God’s plan for us.

By Shannon Milliman I am refining myself; someday I will be a goddess. I want to be defined by my desire to progress and reach creative exaltation. My human creations, in partnership with my musician-stay-at-home-husband-father-sex-machine include five children whose names I believe you should know because they illuminate an inkling of who we believe they are becoming. Sunny Carolina and Moses Jude. They used to get along. Now they don’t. Adrianna Cosette wishes I were not such a free spirit hippy and that I would hold Rainbow Ophelia and 9 Phineas Coltrane’s hands when we are walking in our somewhat sketchy Portland, Oregon neighborhood—but fortunately, her nurturing instincts surmount mine and she holds their hands for me. Rainbow and Phineas are studying Judo. I see a light of confidence generate in naturally timid Rainbow as she acquires abilities to roll and pin others significantly greater in size. I feel swelling joy to see her find a seed of strength rooting her fairy frame.   Music: dissonant, cacophonous, pure and sweet is oft heard within our home. Moses plays the drums and trumpet. Sunny, a few chords on the guitar and sings in the bathroom “My Chemical Romance”, which I wish she wouldn’t listen to. Adrianna and Rainbow, flute and recorder. Phineas the organ—and my sweetheart, everything, every instrument. He has always left instruments out, available for them to experiment with when they were ready, never pushy. So polar, my opposite. We have another child. He was born first, stillborn but I don’t want to tell you his name right now because I don’t want you to know my sacred sorrow that reminds me that we named him differently than the others. Their names are artistic, creative. He was named after my father, whom I love so very much though I have never had the courage to tell him so. Our son was born but he was not and even in the records of the church we have no guarantee he is ours. A prophet quote hints, a scripture infers. My gospel view prior was black and white, right and wrong, justice and mercy. But this is supposed to be about how I knew my family was complete. I know that my Father trusts me and charged me with intelligence to make choices that would help bring forth the kingdom. I know he told me distinctly to have the first, the one we lost and I don’t know why. I know that Phineas, our last, was a surprise. I did not want him. I was working from home and had no bandwidth for raising another soul. The kids in between we chose on our timeline. But when Phineas was born I fell in love with him fully and completely, like I had never before. I had to learn to love each of the others. God blessed me with a measure of affirmation and protection and hope for my baby. In this phase I work full time as a learning and development professional, and my husband provides a majority of nurture at home for them. Together we take each day at a time. But I have a drive to create artistic, theatrical and written expressions of my sacrament of motherhood, womanhood, wifehood, divahood. I have created what I thought would be my magnum opus—a one woman play—and having performed it heaven’s horizons have opened for me and I see this is just the beginning. I know that God trusts me. If I say “I am done,” and my choice is to shift my creations and continue to fortify and raise my existing family, it is enough.

By Anonymous If it wasn’t for the gospel, I am certain I would have lost my will to live a long time ago. I was told at a very young age that I would never be able to have children due to some medical issues, but for some reason my soul yelled, “NO” at that moment. My husband and I battled years of infertility, including five miscarriages (including a set of twins). So I have six babies in heaven to this day. Miraculously, we have two beautiful little girls whom we call our Rainbow Angels. At the very end of my last pregnancy, I knew I could not go on to have more children or even attempt it. I knew my emotional and physical well-being would be in grave danger if I did. I cried and pleaded with my Heavenly Father to know what to do. I had only been in this process of building a family for five years. Was I a sinner for wanting to stop? Selfish? Vain? No. I wasn’t. I felt this amazing peace come over me during this pleading prayer. I felt my Heavenly Father wrap His arms around me. I knew at that moment He was taking care of my six babies in Heaven and I was to focus on my children on earth in this life. I will always wonder what it would be like having a large family, but that is something I can focus on later in the eternities. I remember rubbing my belly the night before my last little girl was born. I spent hours talking to her and embracing all of her kicks (and even some of the horrendous heartburn). I told her I was ready for her, but I was actually telling myself that it was ok to let go. I was at peace at letting this be my last pregnancy. Even at the young age of 26. I was ready. I said a prayer to Heavenly Father. I told Him that I had done my part in this cycle of my life. I was ready to give this heartache and pain to Him, and to have peace. I also told Him how grateful I was to have experienced all of these trials and miracles in regards to my “pregnant life”. The moment I finished praying, I kicked into labor with her. I am so grateful that I can apply the Atonement to my life, to heal my aching heart and yearning soul for my babies. I know I can lean on my Heavenly Father and know that there is peace in the decisions my family has made in regards to our fertility and growth.  Physical, mental, and emotional health is important in all things, and our Heavenly Father is very aware of this. I know I don’t have to be the typical Mormon family “size” to have eternal happiness and peace. One day I will hold and love on all of my babies in my arms, but until then, they will be held tightly in my heart.

By Rebecca Sachiko Burton My first child was born when I was 19. Since then I’ve had twelve pregnancies—four ended in miscarriage, and one (my second child) was my premature son who died an hour after being born. I have seven living children. When I started, I had fierce baby hunger. I remember being in the hospital with my first daughter, and feeling a push to have another one as soon as possible. My first and second daughters are 15 months apart. I kept feeling the push to have as many children as possible before I turned 30. I didn’t know why. My fifth living child was born when I was 27, and then, at age 30, secondary infertility hit, bringing with it a string of miscarriages. With the help of a doctor, I was able to have my last two living children 18 months apart, when I was 31 and 33. After that, the secondary infertility took over for good. I didn’t get to choose to stop having children; my body chose for me. My youngest is now four, and my oldest a senior in high school. I find myself wistfully lingering over pictures of other people’s babies; I’m having the hardest time giving away the baby stuff. I keep reminding myself: all my friends are done having kids. We’re busy (I homeschool). We don’t have a lot of money. Our house is already crowded. My youngest is potty-trained and now I get to start moving on to the next season of my life. But I’m still struggling. I found so much joy and meaning and purpose in carrying and bearing children, and I feel like I’ve been fired from a nearly 20-year career. I don’t like talking to people about it, because I know that some people were never able to have any biological children, and some had terrible pregnancies, and some grapple with unwanted fertility. I can guess how my longing for the possibility of more would sound to them, and when I have said something out loud, sometimes I DO get a shocked, “Are you crazy?” So I keep quiet. My husband tells me that the “somebody missing” feeling is because I’m missing our five children who died before or after birth. Maybe he’s right. I do love and miss those children. My friends tell me that the “somebody missing” feeling and grief will pass; that I need to rehearse to myself how lucky I am to have seven terrific kids; how I need to throw myself into new projects and hobbies and open new chapters in my life. Normally I like trying to find the good in each situation, but in all this I feel like, When does it matter what I want? I guess that’s just mortality for you. Joy and grief, all mixed together.

By Lori Jackson When I was a little girl, I dreamt of one day being a mom. I would care for my “babies” as if they were real. As I grew, many of the choices I made had motherhood in mind. From the countless hours I spent babysitting, to the classes I chose in High School and College. I was determined to be the best mother to my unborn children. When we decided to start our family, our son came fairly easily. It was when we tried to add to our family that I found myself in a phase of secondary infertility. I remember pleading with Heavenly Father to allow me to bear more children, and month after month I felt myself slipping deeper into despair. This was what I was put here on earth to do, and yet my body was prohibiting my ability. Once I finally saw a doctor, it was a whirlwind of tests, procedures, and eventually, surgery to remove an endometrioma the size of a small cantaloupe on my left ovary. Upon checking into the hospital, I was required to sign a consent form for a radical hysterectomy should the doctors deem necessary. Cancer would not be ruled out until they had performed a frozen section during surgery. All I could think about was my great desire to have another baby. My unsettled feeling that our family was not complete. I knew we had a daughter waiting to join our family; yet, I was terrified I would come out of my operation without the ability to get her here. We were eventually blessed with four beautiful children – including three daughters. My desire for more children was quieted with the overflow of diapers, laundry, and crying babies. I knew time was precious and I needed to treasure each moment. I knew because everyone that had been there before warned of how quickly time would go – and it did. They all grow up, become independent, and the tides change. Suddenly you realize you need them more now than they need you. Arriving at this crossroads has been very strange. The walls of our home still echo with laughter, ring with screams of sheer joy, and vibrate with stomps of frustration. Whenever I feel sad or lonely, I listen carefully and can still hear. Who knew letting go would be so hard? The emptying of our nest has not been at all what I expected. I feel excitement at the new adventures ahead, but I remember with tenderness the times I never thought would end.

By Anonymous My husband and I always thought four sounded like a nice even number of kids to have, and when we reached number four, I was ready to be done. I struggled with postpartum depression and anxiety that got worse with each child, and I had suffered three miscarriages and had two c-sections. I wanted to feel done. We decided we were done. But…I felt ambiguous. Relieved, but grieving the end of my pregnancy and breastfeeding years, wondering if I was sure about being done. Shortly before my youngest’s second birthday, we attended the temple and I had a very strong impression that we needed to have another baby. I leaned over to my husband in the Celestial room and told him this and he had an immediate spiritual confirmation that this was what we were supposed to do. So we proceeded and quickly became pregnant. I had a very hard time with the pregnancy, swinging between excitement and feeling like “What have I done?” Additionally, because of my miscarriage history, my doctor decided to put me on progesterone. Let’s just say I was no fun to live with. At ten weeks, we went in for an ultrasound. Mercifully my husband was able to get the day off and go with me. The tech was very quiet and I knew that what I saw on the screen was not a ten-week fetus. The doctor came in shortly after to tell me that I was again miscarrying. I had a D&C the next day and I proceeded to grieve this miscarriage in a way that I hadn’t done with the others. The question quickly became, “Do we try again?” But I finally felt really and truly done. I no longer felt the tug of another baby waiting to come to us. Another trip to the temple confirmed these feelings. Naturally, this raised a whole host of other questions: Why another miscarriage? Did this little spirit just need a very short stopover in mortality? Will we have him in the next life? I don’t know the answers to these questions. Our doctrine is vague in these areas and I personally believe it’s because there are no one-size-fits-all answers at these early stages of gestation and loss. I can only put faith in the personal revelation I’ve received and move forward and hope to have answers someday.

By Juanita Verma It is hard to succinctly describe the multitude of feelings I have as a never married 48-year-old female without children. The dominant feelings are probably of hidden grief and pain from unfulfilled wishes, hopes, and dreams for my life. As a young college gal, I remember hoping I would have five children. As time marched forward, my dream changed as I knew I would need to have the children in a shorter time span. So I wished for one child, and then for twins, and then for triplets. As my 40s progressed, every now and then I would Google the possibility of having viable eggs. There is no consolation prize for putting up with all the physical discomforts of menstruation and not getting a child! At this point, the time of month is inconsistent for me and has not occurred for several months. I don’t know if I will experience it again. But there is an emotional component as well, as others have said, it reminds us we are not having a child. Earlier this year, I began counseling to deal with this double grief of being both single and childless. My hope was to get insight and help so I could get to the next level of happiness and move forward joyfully. At this point, my pain is probably more due to being single than not having a child. But the pain of not having a child impacts me as well and can be sneaky in inflicting pain, such as when I see the happy moments others have with their child and knowing I have not and won’t have such moments. I’ll never get cute notes from kids or grandkids, never see them dress up for prom or Halloween, never send them off to the first day of school or a mission. But I want to be genuinely happy for others even when I hurt or feel envy about my missed chances for family life and motherhood. As the time of month leaves me, I realize hope is leaving as well. Up until this time, I could daydream of my supposed ideal life. The pain of realizing I won’t have children is a real pain that at times hurts my heart. I care for those who are infertile, and my compassion for these individuals has grown through participation in a support group for those who are childless. I have respect for those who have had children while unmarried. I respect those who participate in foster care or adopt. I feel these are not the choice for me, yet I am still trying to figure out Heavenly Father’s plan for me. I recall a few years ago standing in our church parking lot, chatting with a friend who conceived her beautiful children via in vitro. We empathized about hidden unrealized grief and joked how supporting those with such grief is something you cannot send a sign-up sheet around for in Relief Society. I recall hearing someone share a testimony of gratitude that the Lord trusted her due to the children He had entrusted to her. I felt that the message was I must not be trusted since I don’t have children. However, I am working on recognizing other situations where I am trusted, such as in my work with my patients or in my volunteer work. I am trying to make a difference. At times I have felt deprived in learning some of the lessons of mortality, as we learn simple gospel lessons through children. However, I do feel the Lord has compensated me in that I have been able to learn many beautiful gospel truths through the other people I interact with in my daily life. It helps to know Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ understand our emotions, heartaches, pains. That it is OK when we struggle. “That he will take upon him the pains and the sicknesses of his people” (Alma 7:11). So what do I need as I try to work through this pain? I want respect. I want to be honored somehow for my life and choices. I want my life validated. If a friend’s child returns from a mission or gets married or something else, it is a time people recognize that they have done a good job. But as a single childless person, I do not get a similar public validation. Please realize I am valuable and have things to contribute. Be patient with me as I process my life so far. I realize this is my unique experience that may or may not resonate with someone else. It is a hidden pain with deep layers, like an iceberg. I have prayed for several years for my desire for a husband or child to be removed from my heart. My hope in uttering that prayer was that without this pain I could be more efficient in service to others, as I would not spend time in dealing with depression. Yet the desire is still there. Trying to say goodbye to the realization I won’t have a child is a long and painful journey. It means saying goodbye to the dreams, hopes, and wishes of earlier years. It means finding support and understanding as I continue onward in life, and hopefully move forward to a place of greater joy and happiness.

By Anonymous I enjoyed having babies as long as they weren’t too close together. I never had any trouble getting pregnant, being pregnant (except fatigue and backaches), or during labor. One of my babies was born slightly premature, but everything turned out okay. I never set a limit to how many I would have. All my children were boys, but I never was “trying” for a girl, although that would have been wonderful. I thought that I would always want more babies, but as the end of my childbearing years approached, I found that I was satisfied in the family with which Heavenly Father had blessed me. As this “change of life” progressed, I wondered at my easy acceptance of the postmenopausal condition, but I came to realize that this change of thinking and feeling was how Heavenly Father prepared me for the upcoming changes in my life. I realized that this is the natural progression of life and the future would be as fulfilling as the past. And it has been! It is a gratifying experience to watch my children as adults and as parents themselves. It is even more wonderful to be a grandmother. I can utilize my maternal instincts on my grandchildren and on other children, like Primary classes and cub scout dens and I have more time to devote to them. I have also been able to be a court ordered advocate for abused children for ten years. I pray that I can continue to love all children that are around me and let them know that there are adults besides their parents that love them and care about them.

By Melissa Petrini Since I was little, I wanted to have a larger family like the one I grew up with. Brothers and sisters to play and fight with, and eventually become amazing friends with. While my husband was in a dental residency with the U.S. Navy in Maryland, I found juggling three children to be my almost breaking point. Since our oldest had been diagnosed with Asperger’s (high-function Autism) and ADHD, his behavior and need for my constant attention made it difficult to manage the others. Soon after being stationed in Okinawa, Japan, we did have another baby, but the stress of not being able to give all my time and attention equally drove me to realize that perhaps I wasn’t meant to have more. However, many times while having family prayer or just playing with the kids, I had that feeling like someone was missing…even amongst the chaos. My kids would often make random comments too, but I knew that I couldn’t handle more. By the time we returned to the states, my exhaustion with my oldest son drove me to try to solve my needs and wants as a mother, and the needs that my son had to just make friends and be accepted the way he was. It drove me to put all my time and creative effort into a non-profit I called The Friend Tree Autism Center in San Ramon, CA. Between music, dance, and autism therapy classes, puppet shows educating typical children about Autism, and holding resource fairs and family-fun events, I convinced myself that this center would be my 5th child. But the feelings kept coming back and soon I began to have dreams about a little girl sitting on my lap while our family gathered for prayer. My heart hurt because I didn’t feel I had the courage or patience to add to our family, especially running my center full-time. So I prayed that God would forgive me and I began to give all my baby things away. However, unbeknownst to me, I was actually pregnant at that time. I was angry at first, then stressed over how I could do it all. We had just started a 6-month home remodel and expansion project and so to say that I was crazy-busy would be an understatement. But somehow God sustained me through it all and we realized that it was a good time to be expanding our home to fit our little girl who was to join our family. Claire Rose just turned one, and as I reflect on the major changes that rocked our family this past year, I don’t think I could have survived it all without her. Shortly after she was born, my husband who had been in private practice for the past 5 years, said he couldn’t endure any longer with the toxic partnership he was in and desperately felt it was time to move. We put our newly refinished home that we loved on the market, and I closed my Autism Center down which was the hardest thing for me to do. However, over the past year of operation, my son—instead of being “the Project”—had become a buddy mentor to other children on the spectrum and served in our programs. He became the most amazing young man. I look back and feel the center served its purpose to help me to better understand and love him, and also empowered him to feel accepted, needed and confident. Many times, I fell into depression with all the changes happening in such a short period, but Claire’s smile, laughter, and innate sense that I needed a hug would just bring me back and I would realize that she was God’s gift to me at a time only He knew that I would need her. All my children have become better helpers around the house—more calm and nurturing as Claire has them all entranced with her infectious smile. Now as our family gathers for nightly prayer and sweet Claire is sitting on my lap, my heart is finally full and overflowing with love and appreciation to a Heavenly Father who knows best, and I can be at peace being at the end of my childbearing years.

Malauney Bourne After we were married, I dreamed of having four children. I had their names chosen, and a blessing gown ready. My grandfather handmade me a stunning cradle. After over a decade of struggles, I finally received an answer to prayers. It came when I was able to accept that although our family would only consist of my husband and myself, we were still a complete family unit in the eyes of the Lord, regardless of what the majority of ‘well-meaning’ ward members might advise us. Debbie Schwendinger I gave birth to my seventh child at age 40 and miscarried my eighth at age 43. I desperately wanted another baby to fill my empty arms, but no more came. This was very difficult for me, but I learned to trust in the Lord’s timing. It was a comfort to know that families are forever, and my miscarried son is still truly mine. And happily, my empty arms were filled seven years later….with a sweet little granddaughter. Marie Leslie When number four was born I knew in that moment that they were all here. It had been a difficult one as I struggled with uncontrolled asthma and pneumonia for the last month of my pregnancy. She was born in respiratory distress and required emergency intervention. It was a blessing to have that immediate confirmation as I was told by a number of doctors and nurses that day that I would not be so lucky if I tried another pregnancy. Diane Anderson I had three children within 18 months (the first two were twins), so I thought that was enough. Several years later I had a miscarriage, then we (several members of my family and I) started seeing a little blond child near our other children, and knew that she was waiting to join our family. After she was born we knew our family was complete.