Is "One" the Loneliest Number? (Thoughts On Being An Only Child)

I had a lot of "pretend friends" when I was a little girl. I don't remember their names, only that one was native American (random, I know). Before you start to think I'm one sandwich short of a picnic, let me preface this by saying that I grew up in a small, rural town in the heart of the Shenandoah Valley and I was an only child. (Okay, I am still an only child). But there wasn't much to do around those parts. We lived in an old, renovated farmhouse; behind us, an apple orchard (that unfortunately wasn't ours) stretched for several acres and directly across our gravel driveway was a cow pasture. We're talking, po-dunk RURAL. My little invisible native American friend and I would run around outside all day once I got home from school. We climbed trees, made forts, looked for bugs and other creepy-crawlies and on days when "Tanto" needed a break, I would usually go and befriend the lazy cud-chewing bovine in the neighboring field. (Don't judge). That was all I was used to at the time. Of course, I had friends at school, and there were plenty of days when I would have my "non-invisible" friends over to play or spend the night, but overall, I was accustomed to stirring up fun (read: trouble) on days when I was on my own.

For the most part, being an only child was okay. It was sometimes hard not having someone else to blame things on. Mom: "Kristin, did you eat the 2 cookies I left sitting on the counter that I told you not to eat?? Me: (sheepish look) "Um, I think I saw Piper (our cat) take them out to the yard...." Anyway, I do remember that I wanted a brother or a sister, and I went through a phase where I was obsessed with little babies and would pray and ask God to give my mom another baby. But, shallow as it seems, each time Christmas rolled around and I had two sets of grandparents doting on me (one set for which I was the only grandchild), I would usually be up to my eye-balls in packages and I would suddenly realize I didn't really want a brother or sister that much. (Yes, being an only child has it's perks when it came to national holidays and my birthday. Up until about 2 years ago, I would get a check in the mail from my grandmother for Halloween- to go out and buy myself a halloween "treat." It usually funded a new pair of shoes. True story.) But all spoiling and monetary gifts aside, I have often looked back, as I've gotten older, and wondered how my perspective on life would be different had I had a brother or sister. How would my identity have shifted? Would it have shifted at all? How would my views of the world, my parents and my relationships be different now? I'll never really know, but I've always wondered.

One thing that being an only child did imprint on me was the notion that I wanted to have more than one child when it came time to start my own family. Not because I hated being an only child or because it was a miserable existence but more because it was just something I knew I wanted to do. I'm sure that a large part of it was because I never had it and because as parents, we all aim to give our children those things that we never got to have for ourselves. For some, it's a promise to sit down to dinners as a family every night of the week. For others, it's saving money to ensure that their son/daughter has a college education. For me, it's wanting my children to experience the deep bond of the love between a brother and a sister. And though I know that producing a blood relative with similar genetic makeup doesn't guarantee a "deep bond," it does guarantee that neither of them have to feel alone. They will hopefully always have each other to lean on, even when life will eventually take them down separate paths.

It was this hope that propelled me through the pukey days of the first trimester, when I could barely see the day ahead of me and even still, during those times when the anxiety is so thick that it almost feels hard to breathe. Even in those moments when I've broken down and said, "why...why did I want to do this again??" , I've at least been able to answer myself pretty truthfully. And the truth is that I didn't want to get pregnant for me. Not even for Jake. Of course, we both wanted another baby- and even talked about 3 or 4 *laughs deliriously at this now.* but if I could have skipped the pregnancy part and had the stork show up at our door with a tiny bundle, I would have made those arrangements in a heartbeat (and I doubt that I'm the only woman who's felt this way). The truth is, when I look at Ella, I simply know that she's the reason I'm pregnant again. This is as much-if not, more- for her as it is for me or Jake, or anyone else in our family. I'm sure she won't be thanking us right away, but hopefully she'll know we've done this because we love her, and one more person in the family means just one more way for her to know she's loved.

Of course, none of this is to imply that 5 years down the road, she won't actually be blaming me for the fact that he's chasing her around the house, crashing in on her tea parties and otherwise aggravating her to no end. After all, this is what brothers do best, supposedly. But it will be good for her. It will be good for all of us. ;-)