I Never Wanted Another Baby
My daughter was hard to come by. Temperatures were taken. Dates were tracked. Charts were made. She was preceded by the painful loss of a pregnancy. I wanted her more than anything.
A sibling for her? Not so much.
My first marriage ended when my daughter was two. It just wasn’t meant to be. The idea of having another baby was a fleeting thought. I used my divorce as my reason for not having more kids. Deep down, the reality was that I didn’t want more. I just had a hard time admitting that. It felt counter intuitive.
I was young when I got divorced and still certainly of child rearing age. This is a dangerous territory to navigate when your single.
When I started dating, this idea of a second baby hung out there in front of me. I felt a societal pressure that I should want to have more kids.
I started seeing men I dated not in terms of whether I truly liked them but in terms of whether or not I could see this man fathering my daughter’s sibling. That’s a completely ridiculous concept.
It made dating more than a little weird. Your biological time clock should never be used as a compass to navigate your love life.
When your staring out the slowly closing window of your fertility, it changes your behavior. Guided by my uterus, I either tried to speed up dating situations to get to the “could we have a baby together” discussion or avoided men who didn’t want to have kids altogether.
It made me crazy to the point of doing something a little drastic.
At 32, I had my tubes tied. The only way to move past my biological time clock was to throw it out the window.
The universe immediately did something horribly mean. Two months after the procedure, the universe sent me my second husband, who very much wanted to have a kid someday. Well played, universe.
After explaining to him that the shop was closed, he conceded to never having offspring and married me anyway. I still felt bad for not wanting another kid. I felt horrible about the idea that I just didn’t have it in me to have another one.
The most asked question we got upon getting married was whether we were going to have kids. I have no idea why this is so incredibly important to people. Why are people habitually obsessed with other people’s procreation?
It wasn’t until that line of questioning and having to repeatedly tell people that a big family was not part of our future that I was able to admit I never wanted a second baby. Ever.
I am a proud, card carrying member of The One and Done Club and I love it. I also love when I meet other people for whom having one kid was a choice because we are an oft misunderstood club.
People can’t seem to wrap their brain around only children. Even as I approached my 40s people’s minds were still boggled by the fact that I would choose to have an only child. To me the, decision was easy.
My daughter is enough.
She, like her mom, is a little “extra.” I joke around that if I had two of her I would also have acquired a hefty drinking habit by now. Admittedly, I have seen women in stores juggling a few children and thought to myself, “That looks horrible.” Sorry, not sorry.
I absolutely love having an only child. She has been my singular focus for 15 years. And yes, for sure she has Only Child Syndrome. She is humbly spoiled, fiercely independent, introverted and requires a good amount of alone time.
As a single mom, it’s her and I against the world. We’ve always been in this thing together. I have no regrets in not having another kid. I feel no shame about it. I don’t feel like less of a woman and I don’t feel like less of a mother. It may be the best decision I’ve ever made.