It seems everywhere I go these days (supermarket, library, car ride to Tae Kwon Do) I am bombarded with messages concerning only children. No kidding. The last three books I've read have had entire passages devoted to the topic. Just yesterday, my favorite afternoon radio show had an entire portion devoted to discussing the Only Child Curse. Then, Taylor piped up from the back seat on the way to Tae Kwon Do class to tell me that she hated being an only child.
For about two nanoseconds, I was furious. Furious at the situation that I hated. I wanted to slam on the brakes and ask her if she actually thought for one second that I had planned things this way. Then I almost started crying. Because even after all this time I still feel guilty. About what, I don't know. Just guilty about all of it. And I couldn't think of one thing to say to her about being the one and only.
Wow. If I ever thought I was prepared for this discussion with my daughter, the overwhelming wave of guilt I felt yesterday assured me that I'm very, very wrong in that assumption.
I've heard over the years many, many opinions regarding only children. The litany of negative comments is one I can recite by heart. As in: They don't learn how to share. They're spoiled. If you don't take extreme precautions against it, only children turn out unsocialized and selfish. The teenage years will be hell because of the extreme pressure an only child feels from parents. Only children are lonely. She'll hate you because she doesn't have any siblings. She'll be all alone when you die.
I think the only way I'd feel more guilty about our family size is if I had been brought up Jewish. Seriously.
Then I picked up my fourth book dealing with only children and found my saving grace. While I think Taylor is far too young to listen to discussions involving my life-long bout with PCOS, or the several miscarriages I've had, I think she's probably ready to hear something like this:
Haroun wanted to know why his parents hadn't had more children, but the only answer he ever got from Rashid was no answer at all: "There's more to you, young Haroun, than meets the blinking eye."
Well, what was that supposed to mean? "We used up our full quota of child-stuff in making you," Rashid explained. "It's all packed in there, enough for maybe four, five kiddies. Yes, sir, there's more to you than the blinking eye can see."
Haroun and the Sea of Stories--Salman Rushdie
Yeah. I think Rushdie got it right.
Someday Taylor will be old enough to understand that we tried and failed. That we didn't have a fortune to spend on 'treating the problem', that we didn't plan it quite this way, but having her made it all okay. And we'll do everything we can to make being 'the only one' okay. Or even better than okay.
As for me, I no longer have many worries about how my only child will be. If the last seven years are any kind of proof, I think Taylor will turn out great. Maybe even more than great.
Kristin
Someday Taylor will be old enough to understand that we tried and failed. That we didn't have a fortune to spend on 'treating the problem', that we didn't plan it quite this way, but having her made it all okay. And we'll do everything we can to make being 'the only one' okay. Or even better than okay.
As for me, I no longer have many worries about how my only child will be. If the last seven years are any kind of proof, I think Taylor will turn out great. Maybe even more than great.
Kristin