All By Herself

I don’t understand how it feels to be an only child. I was born into a well oiled kid machine. My two older brothers were not only smart, capable and creative but also nurturing and loving. I found myself in an environment that was FULL of people. It was hard to get time alone but I didn’t want that. I loved being surrounded by others. And now, as a mother, it just seems weird to only have one baby.

Clare was an “accident” and by “accident” I mean we got really lazy on purpose. Big surprise, Val. What did you think was gonna happen? Bah!

The next time around I wanted to mean it. I didn’t want to just stop trying to not try and have a kid. So after Clare was born we talked about having more children and when. We figured we’re on the wagon might as well hurry up so we can get off before we’re 30. Right? Am I right? Please tell me I’m right…

We never really wanted Clare to be an only child. I don’t think she would like it either – she loves being the boss way to much. She will be a genuine, loving and interested older sister. She will shine in this roll. I know it. Never overbearing. Never overshadowing. Just her sweet self, shining – a quiet inspiration for her younger siblings.

Being a woman is wonderful but it’s a little confusing when it comes to birth control. Even though your brain says, “It would be REALLY stupid/irresponsible to get pregnant right now.” your body and hormones are saying, “But look how handsome he is. Don’t you love him? You should make a baby with him as soon as possible.”

You have this logical plan in your head and as soon as you ovulate your sweaty husband starts smelling like a sweet, heavenly flower or bread fresh out of the oven. Your eyes glaze over and all you can think about is him and babies, lots of babies. You start crying at the thought of weening. You have a complete break down when you see someone else’s newborn. You stop drinking alcohol and caffeine even though there is no chance of you actually being pregnant. You have to keep slapping yourself in the face and saying, “Getting pregnant right now would be really ungood.”

The time Andrew and I had planned to start trying again is fast approaching. Much faster than my logical brain thought it would (much slower than my hormones want). Right now Andrew just smells like himself and I don’t have pictures of dancing newborns in my head. I don’t have visions of myself holding the earth next to my huge motherly bosom and nourishing all of humanity with my great womanliness.

I’m scared of what it would mean to have another person join our family.  What would happen to Clare? How would we have more room, more money, more love? How would we have enough?

Right now Clare will remain all by herself – an only child … that is until I turn into a raging baby machine.

On the flip side: We found Clare eating a dead bug the other day. I thought to myself, “Man, she is taking a long time to eat that Cheerio.” Nope. Not a Cheerio, Val.


2 responses

  1. I’ve been an only daughter for 12 years before my younger brother came. It was so easy for me to accept that I’m going to have a younger brother and I was really excited. My parents didn’t show any signs of favoritism to the both of us.

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