Courtesy of Laura Donovan
I recently asked my next-door neighbor whether she can hear the chaos in my home from the comfort of her own residence. She paused before replying, with tenderness, "Let's just say it makes me so glad my kids aren't little anymore."
As a child growing up without siblings in the traditional sense, all I wanted was to be surrounded by the kind of boisterous energy my family of four apparently generates. Large families, particularly made up of boys, have always fascinated me. I was raised on "Home Alone," "A Christmas Story," and "Malcolm in the Middle," all of which showcase boys and male siblings having the kind of adventures that felt inaccessible to me.
But since becoming a parent nearly four years ago, I've realized there's no way I have the bandwidth to run a houseful of kids à la Lois Wilkerson or Kate McCallister. Two kids later and two years into the pandemic, I'm putting my youthful childbearing dreams behind me.
I was raised like an only child; my brothers and sisters, all half-siblings, are seven to 12 years older than I am.
I opened presents by myself on Christmas morning. My parents boasted that I was an easy restaurant companion because I kept busy with coloring books as the adults talked for hours. But I wasn't exceptionally well behaved — I'd just learned to lean on my own company.
I often glanced at families with multiple kids and wished I could be at their table instead of in the grown-up zone.
I'd always assumed that having lots of kids would fill this lifelong void, but now I already feel stretched too thin. Saying yes to one kid usually means saying no to the other. My oldest son was recently diagnosed with autism spectrum disorder, which requires lots of speech and behavioral therapies. Taking him to appointments typically means leaving the little one at home, starting an inevitable war of resentment and jealousy between them.
On every park trip, the boys want to play on opposite ends of the playground to satisfy their individual developmental needs, but I can't safely watch them both this way, so someone is always disappointed when I say we must move. I've never been able to sync up their sleep schedules and am prone to petulance when asked about their naps and bedtime outcomes.
I cannot imagine coordinating more than what I'm barely able to do now.
I've heard that some people become more relaxed after having more kids because they can't dwell on perfection or guilt. I don't see myself getting less stressed out with more kids though, especially since more children means more expenses, which I'm simply unable to float on my own.
Having two kids has kept me out of the workforce, and I feel that having another kid might kill any chance of reviving my career after all the setbacks I've faced. I'll be 34 soon, and with my history of miscarriage, cholestasis, and hypothyroidism, another pregnancy could be very risky.
Stopping at two doesn't necessarily guarantee that my kids will feel shortchanged by a massive family, nor does having siblings guarantee lifelong happiness for them. I was always so envious of kids with brothers and sisters that I never considered some of them could be feeling as lonely as I was because there wasn't enough attention to spread around at home.
I can't rewrite my lonely childhood by having more children. I can only invest in the ones I do have and hope that's enough for them.
