Only One??

There are days when being the mother of one very active three-year-old boy totally kicks my ass. These are the days when I wonder how mothers of multiple children handle it all? And single mothers? Don’t even get me started on single mothers. If I’m this exhausted with one kid and the support of my husband, how could I handle two or three?

When I see a woman walking with two or three young children, I find myself thinking, “Wow, she must be crazy.” Sometimes I wonder if there’s something wrong with me because I don’t have a desire to grow my family. Maybe I’m just lacking some maternal gene that these other women have. I’m curious if there has ever been a survey of mothers of only children to find out if they had a rough go of it with their infants as compared to mothers of multiple children. I love the relative freedom of being the mother of a three-year-old vs. being the mother of an infant. I love that I can communicate with my child and find out what’s wrong, as compared to feeding, diapering, rocking and still holding a crying baby.  

I have been pretty comfortable with the idea of having one child ever since Oskar was born. My first few months as a mother were far from easy and I do not have fond memories of the sleep deprived stress of it all. Oskar cried. A lot. I don’t think he was technically colicy, though I admit that I still don’t understand exactly what constitutes a colicy baby. For all I know it involves a baby being licked by a really mean cow. I do know that I have no desire to revisit that time in my life as a parent. Having another child would be a lot more attractive to me if I could skip the infant stage all together. I’ll gladly hold a friend’s infant and I’ll gladly hand it back to them a few minutes later. A baby person I am not.

Whenever a friend is getting close to having their first child, I always seem to find myself telling them the same story about how tough I found the first few months with Oskar. “I knew that it was going to be hard,” I say, “but it ended up being about 100 times tougher than I thought it’d be.” I generally find that this is not what my friends want to hear as they get closer to being a new parent, but I figure it doesn’t hurt to give them fair warning. “Of course, every baby is different,” I say, to help reassure them. It seems this is true, as most all of my friends have had pretty easy first babies, and some of them have already moved on to baby number two. Maybe it’s time I just shut my mouth when it comes to my ‘be prepared for the worst speech.’

I’ll admit part of me wishes that just one other friend would have had an experience similar to my own. Does this make me a bad person? It’s not so much that I wish them to suffer. No, it’s much more selfish than that. Part of me feels like I’m somehow a failure because I hated the first few months of motherhood and I don’t want to experience it again. What’s wrong with me? Society tells me that this is the best thing ever, the most natural thing a woman can long for and that I should be feeling a crazy surge of love for this tiny little being in my arms. And yet, when I look back, I just remember the incredible exhaustion. I remember walking around the grocery store like a zombie, not particularly shopping for anything, just needing to get out of the house by myself. I remember being awake in the middle of the night with a crying Oskar in my arms just wishing he’d close his eyes and go to sleep already. Tender Gerber Baby moments these were not. I felt like I had been sold a bill of goods. Who tricked me into this parenthood deal? What had we unleashed unto the world in the form of a very cute little baby boy?

I was recently talking to another mom at the playground whose daughter is in preschool with Oskar. We talked about how tough the first few months of motherhood were and how we didn’t think we could handle going through it again. It was really refreshing to talk to someone who felt the same way about the prospect of another child. We were both similarly worried about whether our kids would one day feel cheated that they didn’t have a sibling and also shared concerns about them one day dealing with their aging parents alone. Aside from these two concerns, I feel pretty darn confident and comfortable with the decision to have one child.

I love the idea of siblings and sometimes worry that I’m robbing my son from the experience of having a younger brother or sister. It sounds great to not be alone, to always have a playmate available and someone to watch out for. I have a lot of friends who are incredibly close to their siblings and have wonderful relationships with them. However, I know just as many people who are not close to their siblings and a few that have very contentious relationships. There’s no guarantee that brothers and sisters will be best friends, or even friends for that matter. Think Cain and Abel.

My sister Chris is six years older than me and my brother Dave is seven years older. They both live in the Seattle area and I see them maybe once a year. I love them and I’m happy that they’re in my life, but I do wish we were closer — both in distance and relationship. As a result of the closeness of their age and geography, Chris and Dave have a much closer relationship and I’ll admit I sometimes feel a bit jealous of this fact. In many ways, with the large gap in our ages, I felt a bit like an only child while growing up.

Part II:

A mere two weeks after writing the above, I sit on my front porch after having a baby conversation with my husband. I thought we were pretty much on the same page when it came to the idea of having another child. Well, it turns out he’s a lot more open to the idea than I am. How much? A lot. We discussed both our points of view tonight and I’d say they’re pretty different. I wish I could say we came to some kind of conclusion, but he went to bed and I sit here on the porch. To be continued . . .

Maybe I just suck at being a mom. I don’t even feel guilty typing that. I think that some women are just naturally better and more suited to motherhood than others. I’m not saying that I neglect and abuse my child — though he does watch too much t.v. — but maybe a lot of this doesn’t come naturally to me. I love Oskar to death, think he’s a great kid, and have no regrets about having him, but I really like my non-kid life, too. I never thought it was possible to value my alone time as much as I do now that I’m a parent. Yes, humans are inherently selfish and I’ll admit I’m quite selfish. As Oskar has gotten older, I have been able to find a lot more freedom and I absolutely love that. He doesn’t need constant attention, can play by himself and be quite independent. He’s becoming his own person — which is good for both of us.

I’ve been looking forward to sending Oskar off to kindergarten for these same selfish reasons. I really miss being out in the workforce. I’ll admit it probably wouldn’t take long for me to hate whatever job I ended up getting and missing my days as a stay-at-home mom, but I’ve been excited at the prospect of getting back to work. I’m not even sure what kind of job I’d be looking for, as there aren’t many openings for newspaper photojournalists ANYWHERE let alone in the Twin Cities. But I’d love to explore writing more and work on my photography business.

Of course, motherhood is the most important and rewarding job a woman could ever have. Wow, how I hate that argument. It just seems to diminish women as a whole. So if a woman isn’t a mother, is she somehow less worthy? Yes, motherhood is an important job, but what about fatherhood? Seems pretty damn important also. Being a stay-at-home mom is right for some people, but it hasn’t really been the right fit for me. I’m grateful that I’ve had this chance to watch my son grow up and it has gone by pretty fast. I just don’t know if I want to start all over again with baby number two. I miss adult interaction more than I can ever fully express. Being at home has made me lonely and stupid. I love you Oskar, but your mom has become a blubbering brainless woman who speaks in third person all the time and can’t refer to going to the bathroom without using the word ‘potty.’ No, it’s not a travesty, but I really miss using my brain on some higher level.

Since discovering my husband’s interest in having another child, I’ll admit that I’ve been thinking about it a lot and part of me wonders if we should go for it. Maybe I’m warming up to the idea just a little bit. Pros for having a second child . . . certainly giving Oskar the chance to be a big brother would have to be number one. The chance — 50/50 of course — of having a daughter means a lot to me. I really value the relationship I have with my mom and think that there’s a special bond between mother and daughter that you don’t quite find with a son. When we’re old and need someone to change our diapers, Oskar wouldn’t be alone in dealing with it. Creating a new person, which is just pretty crazy when you really think about it. Oskar would have a playmate, someone to boss around and hopefully watchover. I think that about covers it.

Cons . . . pregnancy, sleep deprivation, diapers, breast feeding, bottles, formula, our tiny house, the expense of it all, chance of complications, the fact that I’m just getting too old for this shit . . .

Quite frankly, I feel pretty darn happy with life at the moment. It’s scary to think about taking on a big change like another child. I’ll be 40 at the end of the year, so it’s not like we have a whole lot of time to think and contemplate the idea, and Oskar will be 4 soon. If we waited too long, the gap in sibling age would be fairly big. And then, of course, who’s to say I could even get pregnant if I wanted to.

The perfect answer to this conundrum — the adoption of an older child. I get to avoid pregnancy and the baby stage, we contribute to society in a very positive way by providing an unwanted child with a stable and loving home, and Oskar gets his sibling. Win - win!

And maybe it makes up for me being such an inherently selfish person.