⚠️ Trigger Warning: This post includes discussion of high-risk pregnancy, medical trauma, and graphic images from a c-section birth. Please proceed with care if you’re sensitive to childbirth or surgical content.

Let me start with the obvious: I love my daughters more than anything. They are fierce, magical little chaos gremlins with Cheez-It breath and fire in their bones.

But pregnancy? That chapter of my life is closed. Sealed. Tubes removed and ritually banished under a new moon.

And now, I’ve decided to take it one step further: I’m getting a total hysterectomy. That means my uterus will be removed completely—no more bleeding, no more cycle, no more portal for carrying life. Unlike just having tubes tied (which blocks pregnancy but leaves the system intact), this is a permanent closing of the womb itself.

Why? Because my menstrual cycle has been an ongoing war. Pain, heavy bleeding, exhaustion—it’s stolen joy from my days and energy from my bones. At first, I hesitated. What if I ever needed the option to create life again? But I don’t. That chapter is over. My babies are here. My family is whole. And my body deserves peace.

However, I thought why not take some time to reminisce my pregnancy journey?

🤢 Act I — “Magical My Ass: The First Trimester”

There was no glow. Just sweat. Hormones. Dreams haunted by “what ifs.” With Evie and Ellie, fatigue hit like a curse — a weight in my limbs no amount of rest could lift. I was a sacred vessel, sure — but one held together by spit, stubbornness, and the occasional survival spell screamed into the void.

😵‍💫 Act II — “The Middle: Still Miserable, Just Less Barfy”

They called it the honeymoon phase. I must have missed the invitation. Still a walking hex bag of anxiety and exhaustion, I carried one baby on my hip and another under my ribcage. Every smile was a glamour. Every day I made it through was a quiet rebellion.

💀 Act III — “The Final Stretch (aka The Crawl Through Hell)”

Ellie came with omens: breech, a cord wrapped around her tiny neck four times. So I said the words with more power than any spell I’d ever spoken: take the tubes. Snip the future. Seal the door. My body was not a portal anymore.

👩‍👧‍👧 The Twist — “But Damn, They’re Mine”

Would I do it again to get them? Yes.
Would I do it again because society expects women to be endlessly sacrificial? Hell no. These girls are the final spell. The legacy. My little witches born of my ashes. I will protect them with everything I have — but that doesn’t mean creating more of them.

💬 Final Thoughts — “Permission to Be Done”

To the other women with weary bones and stitched-up dreams: you don’t have to justify your no more. Let your no be sacred. Let your peace be a protection spell. Let your body rest. I did what I came to do. Twice. And now this womb is closed for ritual cleansing, quiet joy, and holding the babes I already summoned.