Deciding to have Another Child: when Fear meets Hope

I wanted to have a lot of kids since as far as I can remember. At first, it was a childish wish — wanting kids always around, ready to play with. "To make a train," to be exact, as my childhood dream went. Then, that changed to wanting three — at least. Five — ideally. Because, well, four is an even number and would just make them divide into groups and fight or separate, I thought. With an odd number, there would always be one to connect them.

And so I walked through life, convinced it would all unfold just as I imagined. As if there was no one else to ask or consider.

Life had different plans for me.

Man Plans, God Laughs

After the first one was born, I didn't exactly give up on having more kids, but I had to rethink it. First, I started having kids later than I'd imagined. Second, the first was born with heart complications. This increased the possibility that the next one might have an anomaly too. And that added to the general anxiety, the doubts about whether I could — or should — go forward. For me. For us.

Deep down, it was never a question of wanting a second child. I did. The question was whether it would be a smart choice. Would it be fair? Both to Emanuela, our firstborn, and to her potential sibling. She still had serious work to do — another open-heart surgery, and who knew how many procedures we couldn't foresee. She needed me, in the hospital and at home, vigilant, by her side whenever she felt unwell. How could I divide my attention? Take it away from her? And how could I burden an unborn child with the responsibility of being the sibling to someone who would always come first, the center of everyone's attention?

What ifs piled.

I wondered — when having more children, does love divide or multiply?

Following My Heart

However I thought about it, from whichever angle, I was certain of a few things at my core. I believed a sibling would be generally good for Emanuela. A little brother or sister would surely push her, challenge her, be there for her and hopefully become her teammate. I know not all siblings turn out to be best friends or supportive of each other. But still... while aware it wasn't my story to write, I could guide them and hope that, when the time came, they would choose to be that kind of women — sisters to each other.

Also... and I don't say this easily, because I've said it out loud to only a few of my closest people... it's deeply personal... I fear, too much... but... the second thing I was certain of was deeply selfish. Namely... if Ema wasn't to make it, I needed a reason to keep going.

Simple, but difficult. I know.

I know the burden of me being okay is not my child's to carry. I do not intend my secondborn to be my carer. But it's more like a whisper in my head. A longing in my heart. I will have someone to keep breathing for. When faced with loss, I will have a meaning to continue.

And yes, I also know a car might run me over tomorrow, and I might be the first to go. Or Emanuela might live long and prosper for decades. Medicine is advancing by the day. Miracles have already happened. And... And... And... I know it's impossible to understand the depth of such loss without actually living it, but...

The Endless Calculations

So, when I dotted all my Is and crossed all my Ts, the questions that remained were only — when and what if we were given another one to fight for.

It turned out that the former was harder than the latter. Thinking back, that's surprising. I would have expected it to be harder to imagine going through it all again than to consider the logistics. But there I was, hitting my head against the wall of Emanuela's medical unpredictability. And as per my character, I started calculating.

Emanuela is one. Another open-heart surgery is coming between three and four. If we start immediately, a baby might come when she's two. Too early. But if we wait, what if it doesn't happen right away... what if it does... first try like Ema... or not... I'll be 40 by the time she's done with open-heart surgeries... I need to stop thinking like that. Logistics. I have to focus on logistics! Breastfeeding. Six months. Ideally, the baby should be older than that when Emanuela goes for the surgery. That would be easier. To leave with dad or another family member. So... When should we start? What did I say... Did I calculate that well? Shit. When is the timing ever right?

I was spiralling — replying variations of this monologue in my head, trying to plan around a completely unplannable premise.

I remember asking our cardiologist about it during one of Emanuela's check-ups. "Just — start," he said.

Tired of thinking from every angle — overthinking — I realized we'd never know the right time. No definitive answers existed. There were simply too many unknowns.

So... we distilled it to one thing we could focus on.

We'll manage!

We knew, without doubt, that whatever life throws at us, we'll get through. Together.

When Three Became Four

You wonder how it all went in the end?

It all turned out perfect! Well, almost perfect.

Around Emanuela's second birthday, I found out I was pregnant. A month later — I wasn't anymore. Through the heartbreak and fear, my third pregnancy brought us a baby girl — a little sister to three-year-old Emanuela. Despite my efforts, she ended up being a bottle-fed child, which made it logistically easier to leave her with daddy and grandma while I joined Emanuela for her surgery and two-week hospitalization. The baby and the family visited. We had video calls every day. And overall, everyone seemed completely okay with the way we temporarily organized our lives.

And that's just it — sometimes, life works itself out on its own.

Ever since, we've been learning to balance attention and share the worry between the two of them. Because when Emanuela sneezes, we're all on our toes. And when the little one sneezes, we pass her the tissue. But we try... we do our best for everyone — and no one — to feel important. We try to live by what we now know:

Love definitely multiplies!

If only I were a year — or ten — younger... ;)