One Isn’t the Loneliest Number

Maybe it’s the questions from strangers about when we’ll have another child — those questions come really quickly after you have one. Maybe’s it’s the clichéd ticking of the biological clock. Either way, I feel the need to share that for us, one child isn’t the loneliest number. Our family feels complete with our one girl (and a puppy — but that’s another post).

Long before the pitter patter of little feet, I planned for a child. In my heart and mind it was something I wanted deeply. Before we were ready, I started a collection. I purchased baby things here and there. Footed sleepers and bodysuits because they’re adorable in tiny sizes and can be easily packed away. A few children’s books. A hand-painted cow print for a nursery I didn’t yet have. I kept this stash like squirrels keep nuts for the winter — hidden, safe, and fiercely protected. I didn’t tell anyone I was hoarding baby stuff (for several years, in fact) because it felt silly and strange. It quieted a voice in my soul that knew we would need those things someday. Nesting, perhaps.

I barely missed that ridiculous medical distinction of “advanced maternal age” by the time we were ready. I was 34, my husband was 37, and our window felt narrow. We thought we’d want more than one child and figured a second might follow in a year or two. We were fortunate — it was easy for us to conceive one child. The only health issue was in my head, from my health anxiety and past brain surgery. Assurances were given by my doctors that I had nothing to fear. I walked a fine line in suspending my disbelief in order to not fall apart during pregnancy. Fortunate and safe, nine months passed.

Our girl came into the world a bit early. I was overwhelmed with wonder, love, and more anxiety. Birthing class, prenatal visits, parenting books, and wisdom of family and friends didn’t prepare me for what my head and heart felt — all the wonderful things and a lot of lonely and confusing things. Anxious and uncertain were the months of my maternity leave as I struggled, mostly in my head, to find my path. I loved my daughter fiercely and yet I wrestled with how to find myself as a parent, as a mom, as a person in this new reality. I got stuck and tightly wound up in things like missed naps. The havoc that sleep deprivation wreaked on me was scary at times. And the emotions — all the feelings — I still can’t even explain.

I deeply cherish the short but important maternity leave I had. I’m blessed my husband had some saved vacation time and my mom was able to take time off as well. I’m grateful my employer granted me part-time status so I could be at home and work — to watch my girl grow and to let myself grow at the same time. For almost three years this felt right and necessary. I transitioned back to full-time work just before she turned 3. I love working, currently at a non-profit focused on improving the lives and health of children across the country. My girl is thriving in preschool full time. She loves school and the friends she has there. We are both growing in parallel to each other, and I wouldn’t trade that for the world.

These days I get sentimental at the sight (or smell, if I’m blessed to hold one) of squishy new babies. I adore devoting energy to helping pregnant and new mom friends. And while there is a tiny part of my heart that would stretch for another child, we just aren’t sure. I am not sure I could go through the health anxiety that was being pregnant — what if I don’t win that gamble again? I’m not sure if my at-times-still-tender emotions can carry another little person. What if I break, and what if I fall? That wouldn’t be fair.

We are not pining for another like we did for our first — that is how I know my head and heart are aligned. We decided together that one is our favorite number, and it isn’t lonely at all. I gave away or passed on all the baby things (except a few to cherish), so there are no nuts saved for another baby.

We thought we needed two, but it turns out we needed one — we needed HER.