In my home, chaos reigns supreme. My three daughters, all under the age of 10, are in a constant state of conflict. If you’re a parent, you’re likely familiar with the usual disputes: accusations of cheating in games, sneaky kicks under the dinner table, and arguments over who gets to be closest to me. If one of them catches a cold, the others are quick to berate her for being too loud—such is their merciless nature. Right now, as I write this, they are squabbling over a Wii remote. Are they just typical siblings, or little tyrants? I honestly can’t tell.
My husband, a middle child in a family of three, reassures me that this behavior is quite normal. Whenever I share the latest tales of their antics, he always has a story to counter. “You think that’s bad? One time, my brother hooked a fishing line into my hair and dragged me down the beach!” he might say, lifting his hair to reveal a scar. It’s a strange world for me, as I grew up as an only child.
I adore my daughters, especially my youngest, a delightful little girl who lights up every room she enters. I mention her specifically to soften a more challenging truth: the relentless bickering can be so exhausting that I occasionally questioned whether having three children was the right decision.
Last fall, everything shifted dramatically when my father began an intense treatment regimen for stage 3 cancer. Upon hearing the news, I called my husband, who was away on business. After we hung up, I stood there in silence, clutching my phone, feeling a deep yearning for a sibling to share this burden with. Without one, I reached out to my friend Lily, who has been by my side since our teenage years. “I wish I had a sister,” I confessed.
“I can be your sister,” she replied. While her offer was kind, I knew Lily already had her hands full with her own family and responsibilities. We belong to the sandwich generation—most of my friends are juggling their own children alongside aging or deceased parents. No one could truly fill that sibling void.
With my father’s health declining, my mother began to show signs of stress-related neurological issues. Our once-close family dynamic felt shaky, and I was left trying to cope from eight hours away. My husband’s increased travel meant I couldn’t easily visit my parents. I spent long days alone with the kids, fighting to keep my emotions in check, often failing.
On a warm fall afternoon, I found myself at the playground, pushing my youngest on the swing while avoiding the other moms engrossed in chatter. Next to me was the grandmother of my daughter’s classmate, who was also pushing her grandchild. As we chatted, I learned that both her daughter and grandson were only children, and I mentioned I was too.
“Did you like it?” she asked, a question I’ve always found difficult to answer. Growing up as an only child was all I knew—it could be lonely at times, but it also meant more undivided attention from my parents and a few extra perks.
That day, however, I didn’t hesitate to express my feelings. “It was fine growing up,” I started, trailing off as I shared my current struggles with aging parents. I revealed my desire for a sibling to lean on during this tumultuous time.
“I understand,” she replied. “My daughter has had a tough time too. I lost my husband a few years back, and it’s been hard for her as an only child. I didn’t really consider that when she was growing up.” We exchanged sympathetic glances, both aware of the weight of our shared experiences.
Recent studies have painted a less-than-rosy picture of sibling relationships, suggesting that those with siblings often experience more negativity and stress. The book NurtureShock highlights that siblings may not be as adept at socializing as only children. A British study surveying 40,000 households found that only children reported greater happiness, with satisfaction diminishing as sibling numbers increased. More siblings often meant additional chores, bullying, and parental strain. While these findings resonate, they overlook the emotional complexities. Being an only child had its perks; it’s the experience of adulthood without siblings that is truly challenging.
Though I didn’t expect my dad to survive, he did—now cancer-free. He joined us for Christmas, and my mother and I prepared our traditional roast beef and Yorkshire pudding dinner amidst the chaos of my children. After years of wanting a larger dining table, I finally decided to buy one that seats eight, despite my husband’s wise suggestion against a ten-person table that would look out of place. I wanted a table that could accommodate my daughters, their future partners, and children for years to come. I would have chosen a 20-person table if I could have.
Perhaps we all yearn for what we didn’t experience in our youth. I often feel a pang of envy when I see photos of my friends with their close siblings. As Shel Silverstein wisely penned, “All the magic I have known, I’ve had to make myself.” I recognize now that the family I’ve created is what truly matters. That’s why I chose to have three children: to give them the gift of each other. They may not understand it yet as they squabble over the last brownie or the first turn on Minecraft, but in time, they will.
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Summary:
Navigating life as an only adult can be challenging, especially when faced with the realities of aging parents and the longing for sibling support. While growing up as an only child had its advantages, adulthood presents a different set of struggles. The author reflects on her experiences and the importance of the family she has created, emphasizing the gift of sibling relationships for her children.