Will You Ever Have Another?
Wrestling With Motherhood After a Hard Diagnosis
“So, will you ever have another child?” This was the question I was asked countless times after Kinnen was diagnosed.
Even though I wanted to lose my lunch at the thought of another baby, something in my heart would stir at each mention or thought of it. I knew God was working on me—and I was going to be a project. A willing one, but a project nonetheless. I began to realize that if I could be willing, even a little bit, God could go to work.
It was in the middle of a conversation full of hypotheticals that Blake said quite plainly, “One day we will be gone and Kinnen will be all alone.” That was it. My hard heart melted in that moment, and I realized how selfish I had been as I thought of all the reasons this would be hard for me.
To name a few: I was nearly 40. The odds of having another child with GSD1a (Glycogen Storage Disease Type 1a) were 25%. We were battling sleepless nights and autistic meltdowns daily. Kinnen was already so much to take care of. Could we do it financially? Physically? Emotionally?
But let me be honest—those weren’t just casual questions in my mind. They were loud. They came with lists and fears that felt bigger than my faith at times. I’d lie awake at night doing math I didn’t want to do, calculating risks and what-ifs. I thought about the sleepless nights, the medical bills, the strain on my marriage, my body’s aches and limits. I thought about how tired I already was and wondered how in the world I could pour from a cup that felt bone dry.
And then there was the grief. Grief for the life I thought I’d have when I first became a mom. Grief for my body that didn’t bounce back like other women’s seemed to. Now I was struggling with a debilitating psoriasis diagnosis of my own, a prisoner in my own body. Then there was the grief for Kinnen’s struggles and the ache of wondering if I was doing enough for him already. Adding another child felt like inviting more chaos into a life that already had more than its share.
I also wrestled with anger—anger that this even had to be a conversation for us. Other families seemed to plan their pregnancies with ease and joy. Ours felt like a battlefield of genetics, specialists, and what-ifs. I didn’t want to admit it at the time, but deep down, I was scared. Scared of more pain. Scared of failing. Scared of loving another child so fiercely and not being able to protect them either.
All the what-ifs and maybes vanished into thin air the moment Blake spoke those words. The weren’t magic, they were real and then felt sent straight from God above. No what-if outweighed the potential to provide my baby with a sibling—perfectly healthy or not, it didn’t matter. If baby number two came out with three heads and multiple diagnoses, I would still love them unconditionally. So would Blake. So would Kinnen.
I turned 39 on December 24, 2021. Wesley E. Kuhn was born on December 27. He was the best birthday gift I could have imagined. Another perfect, natural home birth, just like his sister. Instantly, just like that, Kinnen’s best friend was here, and my heart burst with joy at the thought of each of them.
But I want to pause here for a moment and speak to you—the mother reading this whose story might look very different from mine. Maybe you’ve been asked this same question: Will you ever have another? And maybe the answer in your heart is no. Maybe it’s a no because you simply don’t want to, or because your body has whispered (or screamed) that it can’t. Can I say something without it sounding like a cliché? Your family is not “less than” because it doesn’t grow again. Your story isn’t unfinished. Your motherhood isn’t incomplete. God’s goodness is not measured in the number of children in your home. He is writing something just as breathtakingly beautiful in you, and He hasn’t stopped.
““The Lord is near the brokenhearted; he saves those crushed in spirit.” -Psalm 34:18
“You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you, because he trusts in you.” - Isaiah 26:3”
This is a sliver of my story. Just a little glimpse at the fear I was engulfed in, yet the hope that kept me bobbing up and down, looking for a line. I don’t know your story, but maybe this will encourage you to take your next step, whatever it is… maybe it’s enough to remind you that God still sees you. He felt my cold, broken and fearful heart and sent me one sentence that shattered it all. He knew I was holding myself back and didn’t even know how to ask for help. But He saw. He knew. He threw me a lifeline.
Ironically, the same year, the Lord was working on Amber and her family. Her story looks slightly different, but her prayers and fears echoed mine. Just 3 months before Wes made his grand entrance, Amber’s sweet and spicy little Kam made hers. We both talk regularly about the special bonds these kids have with their older, diagnosed siblings, and how we would never trade it for the world. We only wish we welcomed them sooner.
A Prayer for the Mama Wrestling With the Question
Lord, You see every heart reading these words. You know her fears, her longings, her silent prayers whispered in the middle of the night. Whether her family grows or stays exactly as it is, remind her that she is fully seen, fully loved, and fully held by You. Quiet the noise of comparison and what-ifs. Give her courage if You are calling her forward, and give her peace if You are calling her to stay. May Your will be done in her life—not hers, not the world’s expectations—and may Your perfect peace guard her heart and mind in Christ Jesus. Amen.
