I've pretty much gotten over the whole no-more-babies thing. I am usually able to laugh it off, treat it lightly, and not stress over it. It is what it is, it happened, it sucks, but I am moving on. I have moved on.
Except for every once in a while. Not when I think, "Oh, it would be so wonderful to hold a tiny baby that belongs to me," but when I think "oh, how I wish Sparrow had a little brother."
It's not for me that I grieve anymore. It's for my son. It's for his lost chance at having the sibling experience. It's because he will never be the big brother. He will never have a little brother or sister to annoy, pester, protect, love, and serve. He'll miss the whole sibling rivalry thing, and he'll miss the whole staying up late with your best friend who also happens to be your sibling thing, and he'll miss the bonding and fighting and loving and poking and teasing and all that goes along with siblings.
Sparrow is enough for me. He is a handful. He is hard to take care of and many days I just want to lay down and give up, because he is so crazy. I do not miss my fertility anymore.
I no longer grieve for myself, and grieving for someone else is a different and somewhat more difficult experience.