My husband felt helpless, not having any input. Sure, he realised I would be the one assuming the risk and responsibility of carrying a baby, possibly losing another baby, and, if not, nursing it for a huge chunk of time afterwards. He was aware of all the physical and emotional baggage I’d be subject to. But, as the other parent, he understandably felt left out of the decision.
My grief deepened into the existential. As I wept under the covers that night, I realised I wasn’t just saying goodbye to the two angels I had lost in the previous few months. I was saying goodbye to an entire phase of my life. Saying the words out loud, “I will never do this again,” had placed a bookend on my childbearing years that I had never really considered before.
The situation also lacked a sense of closure that I think we both craved. Had we stopped after our second daughter, we could have…
