Only
December 5, 2009We're walking home from school.
"I was thinking," Henry says. "I was thinking it would be good to have a little brother."
I can't help but picture it. Henry holding a little boy's hand, guiding him as he toddles down the sidewalk next to us. He would have been such an excellent big brother.
"Or a sister," he says. "Yeah, actually? I think I want a sister. Because I like the girls I'm related to. So I think if I had a sister, I would like that."
I am murmuring noncommittally. "Huh!"I say. "Hmm!"
"So," he adds, looking at me, "can I get one?"
"I don't think it's in the cards for us, sweetie," I finally say.
"What does that mean, in the cards?"
"It means I don't think it's going to happen."
"That's okay," he says quickly. "That's fine. I was just thinking. "
I try to point out the advantages of being an only child. The quality time with us. He does not appear convinced.
"It could be fun, though," he says.
"Yes," I agree. "It could be."
*
When we made the move back to the city from the suburbs, part of it was because we realized we weren't going to try again. There are so many reasons, and if I give them, I'm afraid someone's going to pop up in the comments to argue that our reasons aren't good enough. "Oh, you can still have a second even if X!" this imaginary person might say. "My precious miracle came about even though we also thought Y and Z and you might be the same way so keep on trying!"
No. It's not going to happen.
And I am sorry. I am. It's so much more satisfying for everyone else, to have a successful pregnancy after a miscarriage. It's expected. You keep on trying, and then eventually you get pregnant and it all works out and the miscarriage becomes an unfortunate blip in your otherwise upbeat narrative. I realize that this is kind of a bummer.
*
Henry hasn't asked about a sibling for a long, long while--long before I had the miscarriage. It's interesting that it's come up for him now, just as my essay appeared in The Sun and I've been sort of overwhelmed by the feelings stirred up by the publication and its response.
I have to admit, I feel a little strange about all these Sun readers emailing me, responding as if I still feel the pain of the miscarriage as acutely as I did back when the essay was written. I wrote it well over a year ago, and when I finished, I felt like I had exorcised something. I exorcised it and saved it in a Word file and then I was free. And now all these people are expressing their sympathy, when that pain has dulled to an occasional ache, and I feel like I'm pretending to be something I'm not. Like I need to tell them they've made a mistake.
Then as I'm responding to them, something bursts open. All that pain I thought I had purged, that deep, awful well. It's right there, and I want to scream. Then I want to thank all these people who wrote to me, because part of me was afraid it was gone. Nope, still there. I still miss that baby I thought I was going to have. That baby who would have been one year old just a couple of weeks ago.
So many people writing to me want me to know about the children they had after their miscarriages. The happy endings they wish for me. I know they're hoping to make me feel better, I get that, but all I can think is, there won't be a second for me. And then I think: because I'm too selfish.
I am ashamed. Because I've made a decision, and at the heart of it, I made it for me. Scott and I made it for us. And for Henry, but who can really say what's best for him, at this point? I'm afraid we're doing Henry a disservice. That we're leaving him alone as we get older and more helpless, that we're depriving him of a soulmate and ally, someone to build forts with or whatever else I imagine he'd do with a sibling when I'm really beating myself up over my decision.
I wonder if he'll forgive us. I wonder if he'll hate us for it. I wonder if he'll be glad.
Of course I know, rationally, that only children can be happy and successful. I know that Henry's happy and well-adjusted and loved beyond measure. I do.
But it keeps coming up. They think I'm selfish, I think, when other parents ask me if Henry is an "only." Stingy. Not willing to spread myself just a little too thin. I want to give them my reasons. My very good, well-considered reasons. But I'm afraid they'd argue that those reasons aren't enough.
Henry is not an only, I want to say. Henry is enough. Can't that be the question? "So, was Henry enough for you?" I could confirm that without a trace of shame.
Just look at him, I could say.
Look at my boy. Look at all that I have.
Reader Comments (245)
What you said about your Henry is beautiful! He is enough. Likely, he is more than enough. And that is all that matters.
What Henry wants in a neighbor friend! A kid you take with you on vacation and one pick up on the way to the museum! One that sleeps over on weekends when Henry is not sleeping over at his friends house.
A kindred.
I had one growing up. She lived across the street from me.
Though I call my brother once a month and have him over on hollidays....my best friend and I are ALWAYS there for each other.
No blood tie required.
I wish that for Henry. For everybody, really.
Two was "right" for me and my family. One is right for others, and none is right for some.
When we were considering a third, it's amazing how many people advised us against it. Even my eight-year-old daughter, who said, "You can barely handle the ones you have now." Yes. She really said that.
I tell my little boy that he makes me so happy and completes my life so much that I couldn't bear to have another child.
Truth is, I can't bear another child easily, and I refuse to put myself and my family through the heartache of "trying".
I feel the same way you do about the disservice of it all, but then I look at my husband and his sister. They can't stand one another, it's been a strained relationship since the beginning and it brings so much heartache to him that it is unbearable. She isn't a terrible person, and neither is he. They are just two very incompatible people who happen to share parents.
Being the mother of a single child is sort of new in our society. I think that children like our boys are everywhere, and maybe they won't feel like a minority once they get a bit older and realize that other moms have made the decision to stop at one.
Plus, who wants to be like so many moms who have 2+? Broke and tired and rundown? No thanks.I'm a better mom when I have a few extra dollars and 8 hours of sleep under my belt.
I have one child. He's almost 10 now and there's hardly a day that goes by that I don't wish he could have had a sibling. I don't think that wish will ever go away. He would be an awesome big brother.
I was 40 when he was born and by the time I had even considered the thought of having another, my husband had already been to doctor and snip-snip, no more kids. (I agreed to this, I don't know why, he seemed so eager. He had two kids previously, so for him his 3rd and last child had just been born. And I really thought one would be enough. At the time, anyway, that's what I thought.)
So, yes, technically, he has two half-siblings. They are 10 and 12 years older than him, and we see them a few times a year. I hope they'll be there for him during this life, but they don't have the kind of sibling relationship you get by living with someone in their day-to-day life. Growing up together. Fighting, laughing, playing. They're kind of like the favorite cousins that live farawy.
We have a wonderful life and the ability to do so much with him. I love him with every thing I have. He has a lot of friends and like your Henry is loved beyond measure by a lot of people.
Thank you for this post. I've never shared these thoughts with anyone, not even my closest friends, and it helps to put it out there.
Selfish? Maybe. But more selfish than having kids I can't afford or spending all the money I could have spent on my first kid's education just to have another? I don't think so. I know that's different from having to reconcile with miscarriages, but I do want to affirm that "just" one can be just fine.
I will stop rambling, and say again, thanks.
uggs outlet
UGG Bailey Button
UGG Classic Cardy
UGG Classic Short
UGG Classic Tall
jimmy choo uggs
UGG Adirondack
uggs outlet
UGG Bailey Button
UGG Classic Cardy
UGG Classic Short
UGG Classic Tall
jimmy choo uggs
UGG Adirondack
uggs outlet
UGG Bailey Button
UGG Classic Cardy
UGG Classic Short
UGG Classic Tall
jimmy choo uggs
UGG Adirondack
uggs outlet
UGG Bailey Button
UGG Classic Cardy
UGG Classic Short
UGG Classic Tall
jimmy choo uggs
UGG Adirondack
I realize that I am late in the game to be commenting on this but it touched me so much and has come at a perfect time to hear it. We also had a couple of losses before our little Mahalia blessed our lives. We have recently decided to not have another for 'our' reasons and like you, I always feel like I have to justify it to people. Mostly this is my issue of maybe wondering in the back of my mind if it is the right thing to do. But you really summed it up for me, Alice when you said that Henry is ENOUGH. That is really the bottom line for us and thank you for sharing with all of us.
I know this post has long since been filed but I'm wondering why having an only child is "selfish"? I think it's an empowered decision. Do you have any insight as to why? I personally think spreading yourself thin in an air of providing your kid with a playmate might be a little selfish too.
Thank you for this! It's how I feel about my daughter. She is enough. More than enough. She is awesome and perfect and I feel totally complete with her.