I often feel like I’m navigating a chaotic clinic rather than my own living room. My three children, all under the age of ten, are like little tornadoes, constantly at odds with one another. If you have kids, you know the routine: accusations of cheating in games, arguments over who gets the best seat next to me, and the classic sibling squabbles that escalate from minor annoyances into full-blown battles. Just yesterday, they were fighting over who gets to use the tablet. They exhibit a mix of typical sibling behavior and something that seems straight out of a slapstick comedy—it’s hard to tell which.
My husband, who is the middle child in a family of three, reassures me that their antics are completely normal. No matter how outrageous my stories of their misbehavior, he has an equally wild tale to share. “Oh, you think that’s bad? My brother once hooked a fishing line into my hair and dragged me across the beach!” he often recounts, proudly displaying the scar as if it were a badge of honor. It all feels so foreign to me. As you might have guessed, I grew up as an only child.
While my affection for my kids is immeasurable, the relentless bickering can be exhausting. There were moments in those early years after my youngest was born when I questioned whether having three kids was wise. This internal conflict intensified last fall when my father began a rigorous treatment for stage 3 cancer. When I received the news, I immediately called my husband, who was away on business. Once we hung up, I stood in my living room, phone in hand, paralyzed by the realization that I had no sibling to confide in or share the burden with.
Desperate for support, I reached out to my friend Mia, who has been like family since our teenage years. “I need someone to share this with,” I admitted. “I wish I had a sibling.” She offered her support, but Mia already had her hands full with her own family and responsibilities. We are part of a generation balancing aging parents and children of our own—most of my friends are in similar situations. The thought of sibling support felt increasingly out of reach.
As my mother struggled to care for my father, she began experiencing neurological issues, likely stress-induced. Our once cohesive family unit felt shaky, with two of its corners faltering. Living eight hours away, I found myself steeped in loneliness, facing days filled with solo parenting while trying to maintain a brave front for my kids.
One sunny afternoon at the playground, pushing my youngest on a swing, I avoided the other parents engaged in light chatter. I struck up a conversation with a grandmother nearby, who mentioned her daughter and grandson were both only children. When she asked if I enjoyed being an only child, I hesitated. I had always felt mixed emotions about that question. Growing up, I had sometimes felt lonely, but I also had the benefit of undivided parental attention.
That day, my feelings were anything but ambivalent. I confessed to her the challenges I faced and how I craved a sibling to share my burdens. “My daughter feels the same,” she replied softly. “After I lost my husband, she struggled more than I anticipated.” We exchanged understanding glances, both aware of the weight of our experiences.
Research has increasingly highlighted the challenges siblings face, with studies suggesting that only children might actually be happier. A British study involving 40,000 families indicated that satisfaction levels decreased as family size increased. While I find this notion intriguing, I also see the truth in it. Being an only child had its merits, but adulthood, with its heightened responsibilities and isolation, can be a different story altogether.
I never expected my father to pull through, yet he did. Cancer-free, he visited us during the holidays. My mother and I prepared our traditional roast beef and Yorkshire pudding dinner while my children played—arguing, of course. This year, I finally decided to upgrade our dining table, which had always felt too small for our growing family. After some debate, I went with one that seats eight, but I caught myself wishing for something larger. It’s a reflection of my desire for a family that extends beyond just my children to include their future partners and offspring.
Perhaps we all long for what we missed in our upbringing. Seeing friends with their siblings on social media can stir feelings of envy. As Shel Silverstein once said, “all the magic I have known, I’ve had to make myself.” Eventually, the family I create will be the one that matters most. I understand that now, or perhaps I always have. This is why I chose to have three children: to give them the gift of each other. They may not realize it as they squabble over treats or gaming turns, but someday they will.
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Summary
Growing up as an only child provided certain advantages, but adulthood brings unique challenges, especially during times of family crisis. As I navigate raising three children, I recognize the importance of the sibling bond I never had and hope my kids appreciate the gift of each other in the future.