When it came to the topic of children, my main concern was whether I wanted to become a parent at all, not how many kids I’d have. Growing up, I noticed that men often contributed little while expecting a great deal from the women in my family. Most parents I observed seemed perpetually stressed and irritable, making the whole idea of parenthood seem overhyped.
However, after I graduated from high school, my life took an unexpected yet typical turn. I fell in love with a wonderful man, and we moved in together. By the time I was twenty-one, I was married and, after a few years, decided that maybe I would embrace convention after all. We decided on one child. We conceived right away, and my daughter arrived in 2011, when I was just twenty-four.
Life felt perfect. I loved my daughter more than I ever thought possible. Every cliché associated with motherhood rang true for me; I experienced pure joy. My husband was the opposite of the men I had grown up around—he changed diapers, cooked occasionally, and was a fantastic father. We were happy, or so I thought.
As it turns out, there seems to be an unwritten expectation that once you become a parent, you should aim for more than one child. The moment I opened that door, I found myself facing a barrage of questions and comments from family, friends, and even strangers regarding a potential sibling for my daughter.
One of the first comments came from an elderly woman selling holiday decorations when my daughter was just six months old. “When are you going to have a sibling for her?” she asked, as if it were a routine inquiry like asking about my car lease. I was taken aback—hadn’t I just given birth? The thought of another pregnancy so soon hadn’t even crossed my mind. I was still savoring the joys of motherhood.
I replied, “Well, we haven’t thought about it. We might just stick with one.” Her curt response was, “Oh, you can’t do that.” I shot her a look, but inside, I began to question my choices. Was it wrong of me to want just one? Would my daughter suffer from being an only child? These thoughts began to fester, and I found myself wondering if our family was incomplete.
As time passed, more comments came my way, with people implying that I should be concerned about the age gap between children. My husband quickly became skilled at deflecting these inquiries, reminding others that children aren’t like potato chips; you don’t have to have more than one.
To find some camaraderie, I started a playgroup with local moms whose kids were the same age. It was great to forge new friendships and watch our children play. But inevitably, as my friends began to talk about their second pregnancies, I felt a mix of excitement and horror. My own pregnancy had been exhausting, and the thought of navigating it with a toddler seemed unthinkable.
I often told my friends, “Maybe down the line; we’ll see.” Now, as my daughter approaches her fifth birthday, I still grapple with the notion of raising an only child. I wonder if I’m being selfish or if something is inherently wrong with my decision.
I have friends who are currently expecting their third child, and I admire their resilience. They seem to juggle their daily lives with grace, even as they navigate grocery shopping with multiple little ones. I can’t help but contemplate, “Why not me?” It’s clear that having more than one child isn’t as dreadful as I imagined.
I won’t deny that I’ve grown accustomed to enjoying my two-and-a-half-hour breaks while my daughter is in preschool. Those moments are precious: I go for runs, walk my dog, and savor expensive lattes in solitude. I find no shame in relishing this time for myself.
Still, I struggle with days when exhaustion takes a toll on my patience, or when I let frustration seep into my interactions with my daughter. As with any parent, regardless of how many children they have, I have my rough days. It’s during those moments that I find myself contemplating what a second child would truly mean for our family.
In those rare instances when tears of frustration threaten, I ponder whether I could handle having another baby while striving to be the best version of myself for two children. The honest answer is probably not; nobody can be the best version of themselves in every situation. We are human, and we all make mistakes.
I can’t think of my daughter as merely an “only” child. She is my child, our child, and she is perfect in her own right. We are genuinely content with our life. My husband’s income allows me to stay home, our daughter is set to attend a reputable private school in the fall, and we even have plans for a Disney trip. All of these factors might shift if we were to have another child.
Would it be worth it? The uncomfortable truth is that no one can answer that definitively. I doubt many parents would openly admit to regretting having a second or third child. One thing is certain: the decision is far from straightforward.
If you’re curious about exploring options for family planning, check out this post on how to navigate your fertility journey. Also, consider visiting Make a Mom for expert insights on artificial insemination. Additionally, Rmany offers excellent resources on pregnancy and home insemination.
Summary
This article explores the complexities of choosing to have just one child, reflecting on societal expectations and personal feelings of doubt. The author shares her experiences and the challenges of navigating opinions from others while embracing the joys of motherhood.