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I’m an “Only (child),” raising an “Only,” in a time where, it feels like woman are having 3-4 children with the greatest of ease. I’m writing this as a way to process my persistent feelings about mothering an only child, especially now, as his 4-year-old curiosity has begun to demand answers regarding his obscure, “no-sibling” status. I must also begin with this caveat, I have been very judgmental in the past, of people procreating several children. To be fair, my judgement of others creating larger families, comes from a place inside of me that sometimes wishes my immediate family population was slightly larger. So, I’m sorry for that. I realize fate, finances and different beliefs result in diverse family sizes and dynamics and quite frankly, that it’s none of my fucking business.

To be totally honest, I never thought too deeply about the number of children I would or thought I should have, prior to becoming a mother. Maybe because I am an only child whose mother made a very responsible decision by settling on just me as her primary dependent. My mom raised me alone for three years prior to meeting my father, who was 21-years her senior. So, for very logical reasons, I never ended up gaining that older brother I frequently invented in my mind. And, I got it (my only status). I didn’t run around feeling jilted of some imaginary life where my brother would step in and protect me from bullies and give me feedback on how to act around my crushes…or maybe I did?

I struggle, like most mothers do, ripe with constant guilt, about how to do and be better for my child. I struggle most with this thought; have I deprived my son of a life better lived with a sibling companion? Is he destined to live an isolated experience of imaginary friends and lonely Sundays with just my husband and me? And then I reconnect deeply, and know that he is loved madly and supported fully.

When I was 6, my parents took me to Disneyland for the first time. I remember it being my first out-of-state travel, first time on an airplane…and most importantly, the first mouse-ear head-band acquisition, in a collection of many. I particularly remember how important I felt; the pilot on the airplane made a huge deal out of me and my first-time-flyer status and my parents bestowed me the window seat and endless Sprite refills. When we checked in to the Anaheim Motel (the kind where the pool is surrounded by the parking lot), the check-in lady practically threw me a parade to celebrate my inaugural palm tree sighting. In my memory, my first California adventure is what I assume being crowned Miss America is like; endless parades, fun outfits, and it was ALL for me. Would I have felt this same excitement had I needed to share it with my imaginary older brother, “Tyler”? Would said older brother have demanded my windowseat and hogged my glory? I’m not trying to assassinate Tyler’s character, he would have probably been a great brother, but the memories of my childhood do not completely wreak of solitude, on the contrary, my experiences were special and connected.

When I moved to New York City at the age of 20, a lot of people who would meet me for the first time, would awe in wonder upon hearing that I am an only child. Often, I would hear, “you don’t seem like an only child!” And initially, I took that as a compliment. I’m not even sure why? Eventually, upon further inquisition by me, I’d find out that the mass assumption about single children raised in middle-class communities, is that we are spoiled, socially awkward brats…

And here I am, a well-adjusted, socially fabulous, adult woman, with a healthy sense of self-awareness, worried about what? That my “only” is going to turn into a spoiled, socially awkward brat? Or that his imaginary little sister he often requests, will haunt him throughout his life? What exactly am I feeling guilty about? I wonder even in this moment as I write this.

Or is it me that I am worried about? Maybe I’m feeling a yearning for that love a new baby brings…Or that abundant affection you eventually bask in at those big family holidays; when you are sitting around a fire with several children/grandchildren who are regaling you with stories about their lives, lives that somehow you gifted to them. And is that desire for more love what fuels so many of us to want more? The feeling that one isn’t enough for the parents or the original kid? One person can provide the universe with infinite love! So why is one not enough? I’m not sure it’s as simple as family planning from a place of scarcity. Which, I’m not implying anyone with more than one kid does, I’m just exploring my own ruminations regarding my baby-making decision. Side note, I know plenty of people who do not have “ideal” sibling comradery.

For my husband and I, having one child was a calculated decision made over the course of years and ever-shifting life happenings. For starters, I became a mother a bit later in life (34), which as I’ve read is very on-trend for my generation. I struggled deeply with post-partum depression, never truly relishing in that new-baby bliss everyone speaks of. My husband works long and hard to provide a life where I’m able to make my “job” Motherhood. He’s also no spring chicken, while where on the topic of age. And when we finally came to place in parenting where we had the bandwidth to decide if we wanted to have more children, we ultimately chose to move on to the next step of all of our lives in lieu of creating a new one. All of these points could be argued, and I’ve had others try to poke holes in my reasoning. “But the second is so much easier!” “Aw, Marcus needs a buddy, you can handle it!” “The love you experience will outweigh the work!” “Just do it and don’t look back, you’ll never regret bringing more life into the world!” All, potentially true but just not for us.

But I find myself wavering every time I’m met with someone new and have to explain, “Oh, we’re only having one.” And somehow, because of my own insecurities, my ego feels weak every time I say it. I hear a voice in my head say “I guess I’m the one who couldn’t handle more than one, I suppose I just don’t have the work ethic, maybe I’m not strong enough…” My soul knows better, I feel brave and connected that I could make the decision and know myself, my limitations and mostly, my not-yet-realized dreams.

I make it a habit in every second I can remember, to be grateful. I operate from abundance and have been blessed with an abundant life filled with love, support and the exceptional souls that surround me. When I practice this gratitude, I know that the life and the family we’ve created is bursting at the seams with love and hard work too. Today, after a lot of feeling my feelings and analyzing societal expectations, I feel settled in our decision to create this powerful and dynamic family of 3. Which by the way, can sometimes feel like a community of 10 (we’re not wallflowers)!

Parenting, family-planning and EVERY decision a human makes, is completely unique to their life experience. We should all aim to be mindful and not compare or judge our circumstances with those of others. When I truly learned that lesson, is when I found peace. It’s my goal to teach my son about mindfulness and appreciation, so that when he’s at the park feeling sad that he doesn’t have a little sister to boss around, he can also be grateful that every window-seat on every airplane, will always be his (as long as he’s traveling with his pushover Mama and Papa).