I had 2 miscarriages. Then, after getting pregnant and in my 3rd trimester, I worried I didn't want to be a mom.

• After two miscarriages, I finally got pregnant, but I suddenly doubted if I wanted to be a mom.
• I felt like I didn't have all the things other pregnant people had by their third trimester.
• Talking about my fears helped me realize that being a parent looks different from person to person.

I was about 12 weeks from my due date before I let myself believe I was going to have a baby. I was surprised to finally be that pregnant.

My husband and I had spent seven months trying to conceive. It was simple, and yet not. After a chemical pregnancy and a miscarriage at six weeks, my doctor identified a thyroid problem.

I started taking medication and got pregnant again months later. I assumed I was on the path to being diagnosed with infertility, so I didn't spend too much time thinking that this pregnancy would be viable. I just waited to miscarry again.

But when I reached the third trimester, instead of celebrating, I felt unprepared.

I didn't have any of the things I thought someone in their third trimester should have: a list of daycares in the area, a plan for the nursery, a list of names, and reserved spots in breastfeeding and CPR classes. A panic led me to follow about 40 moms on Instagram because I thought I could learn how to be a mom from looking at their posts.

Within a few days, motherhood consumed my feed. The more I scrolled through the app and read about moms following their instincts, the more motherhood started to feel doable and fun.

Then one day I saw a post of a sonogram lovingly encircled by eucalyptus leaves, baby booties, blooming flowers, and syringes. Above the sonogram was text that read: "MADE WITH LOVE & SCIENCE. Baby arriving May 2020."

The caption went into detail about how hard it was for this woman to conceive. There were multiple rounds of IVF, injections, and lots of waiting. I was amazed by how much she ached to be a mother.

I never felt like I needed to have a baby

When we were still trying to get pregnant, I discussed with my husband that if I couldn't get pregnant, I didn't want to pursue IVF or IUI. While I wanted to have a baby, I didn't need to have a baby. Neither did he.

And then it hit me: Having a baby never felt like something I absolutely had to do. So if I didn't need to have a baby, it probably meant that part of me also didn't want to have one.

I've been in therapy long enough to know this is exactly the type of thing you talk about in therapy.

My psychiatrist asked if I had told anyone about my miscarriages. I was sad and frustrated about them, and I'd told the people closest to me, who checked on me daily for weeks.

"Don't you think that means you want to be a mother?"

I wasn't following.

She explained how conflicting emotions can coexist without there being any major significance.

She also reminded me that just because I could picture myself being a happy childless person didn't mean that I didn't want to be a mother or that I wouldn't take care of my son. It meant I would be happy with my life however it turned out.

Being a mother is hard, regardless of how much you wanted to be one

Our son was born in March 2020, and we named him Arthur. I miss him when he is in the living room and I am in the kitchen.

But it's hard.

You don't love when your baby is crying and you know he is fed, dry, and warm. It's hard when you put him down for a nap and he wakes up just as you find the perfect yoga workout on YouTube. You question your life choices when you have to button a onesie. (Get the zipper ones!)

My frustration doesn't mean I don't love my son. It means I can love him and dislike some parts of motherhood at the same time. It's such a relief to know that's possible.