As a mother to an only child, I frequently encounter the question of when I plan to have another baby. My daughter just turned four, and I often hear comments about the supposed risks of waiting too long, whether it’s the age gap or concerns about my health. There’s pressure to get started on expanding our family—immediately.
But the truth is, I don’t wish to have more children.
When I express that I’m “one and done,” people often look at me with disbelief, as if I’ve committed an unthinkable act. “Don’t you want her to have a sibling?” they ask. “Isn’t she lonely?” And, of course, “Having two makes it easier because they can play together.”
I’ve mulled over these points countless times. Siblings can indeed be a blessing; I had an older sister who was my hero growing up. We shared many joyful moments, and I often reminisce about the warmth of sibling bonds. I sometimes feel a pang of sadness watching siblings interact, knowing my daughter will miss out on that connection. Yet, my desire for another child isn’t swayed by the hypothetical benefits for my daughter.
Is that selfish? Perhaps to some extent.
Every parent’s journey is shaped by their own upbringing. My parents both worked, leaving me to navigate life as a latchkey kid. My sister, being three years older, often preferred her own company over mine, leaving me feeling isolated despite having a sibling. I learned early that companionship was not guaranteed.
When my daughter was born, I made a conscious choice to be present for her in a way that I didn’t experience. I’m not overly protective, but I’ve engaged deeply in her life as an only child. Knowing this is my sole chance to be a mother, I made choices that reflect my commitment. We co-slept, I breastfed until she was three, and I dedicate significant quality time to her daily. My focus on her contrasts sharply with my own upbringing, where I was just one of many.
While she may not experience sibling closeness, my daughter enjoys a unique bond with both her parents. Some may argue that being the sole recipient of parental attention leads to selfishness, but I see the opposite in her. She possesses a confidence and security that comes from not having to vie for attention or affection. Early on, she learned the value of sharing, understanding that her friends would eventually leave, and everything would revert back to her. This awareness fosters patience and generosity that is often lacking among children with siblings.
Having just one child allows me to integrate her into my life seamlessly. There’s a freedom in managing life with one kid. We spend quality time together as she accompanies me to classes, meetings, and social gatherings. This close interaction has enhanced her intellectual growth and verbal skills far beyond her age, thanks to the abundance of adult conversations she’s exposed to.
While being part of a large family offers its own joys, there’s fulfillment in our smaller unit as well. Recently, she asked when I would have a baby so she could have a sister. My heart raced, and I gently explained that I’m content with our current arrangement. “Is it okay that I don’t want to have another baby?” I asked. She thought for a moment before hugging me tightly and affirming, “Yes, Mommy. I’m really happy, too.”
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In summary, parenting an only child presents unique challenges and rewards. My decision to remain a one-child family is deeply personal and rooted in the desire to provide a focused, loving environment. My daughter may not experience sibling dynamics, but she thrives in the bond we share.