“Is he your first?” a fellow mom asks while we both watch our kids at the park.
“Yes, just the one,” I reply, already bracing myself for the inevitable follow-up.
“Are you planning for another?” Her tone is light, but the question feels intrusive.
The truth is, we aren’t having another child. Why do strangers feel entitled to ask about such personal matters? If you’re going to pose that loaded question, be ready for a candid response.
“Actually, no. My partner and I attempted for 18 months. I experienced a miscarriage and dealt with endometrial complications, so I tried various remedies, including Chinese herbs and acupuncture. Now that we’ve moved on from our donor, our attempts have come to a halt.” I deliver this information matter-of-factly, hoping to make her a bit uncomfortable for prying.
“Oh, I’m really sorry…” she replies, her expression shifting to one of sympathy.
A year ago, I experienced that miscarriage at home, not realizing it would be our last opportunity for a second child. We kept trying, but I faced multiple conceptions that never led to successful implantation. Thankfully, we chose a known donor, so we weren’t burdened with financial strain, but the awkwardness of hosting “the guy” every month without results was… frustrating.
The hardest part was that we had already shared our plans with our son. For months, he kept asking if there was a baby growing in my belly. Explaining where the baby “went” was heart-wrenching. He would toss coins into wishing wells, hoping for a “healthy” baby brother or sister. *sniff* Thankfully, that phase has passed, and his current desire is for a cat instead.
Meanwhile, I’ve been grieving. I’m coming to terms with the future I envisioned—a future that’s now gone. It’s about letting go of that dream and making peace with our family of three.
The grief associated with miscarriage is peculiar; it often feels like mourning an idea that was never fully realized. Yet, the hopes and dreams associated with that tiny blastocyst were very real and substantial.
I made the choice to wait until my late 30s to start a family, only to have Mother Nature take away my chance for more. I wasn’t prepared for the guilt that accompanied my grief, as if an unwelcome guest had arrived alongside it.
I grapple with feelings of guilt for not being able to “give” my child a sibling, for the perceived disadvantages this might create for him, and for the sense of loneliness that could plague him throughout life. After all, he already comes from a same-sex family. The least I could do was provide him with the companionship of a brother or sister.
Currently, I’m reading “One and Only: The Freedom of Having an Only Child, and the Joy of Being One” by Zoe Monroe. Each page offers both comfort and insight. It turns out our societal biases against only children stem from a time when families needed many children to contribute to their survival. Back then, large families were celebrated, and having multiple children was a necessity due to high infant mortality rates.
Early psychologists, who favored larger families, contributed to the stereotype that only children are socially maladjusted.
When I envisioned my future as a teen, I pictured a university degree, a husband, and two kids—none of which has come to pass. I grew up with a brother in a traditional family structure, so I naturally assumed I would follow that path too.
Now, feeling okay with having just one child fills me with guilt. There’s a strong stigma surrounding the decision to have a single child. Typically, society expects either none or two or more.
People often pity or stereotype only children, and I now face judgments that I’m selfish. The whispers in my mind echo with thoughts like, “Poor boy, no brother or sister,” or “She must have chosen her career over family.”
Yes, some women do make that choice, and it’s perfectly valid.
As I navigate my grief, I’m working to shed that unnecessary guilt and open my heart to new possibilities. I feel lighter and more liberated as I let go of societal expectations. The life I’ve led so far has been fulfilling, and I’m grateful for my blessings. I truly believe we can all release those preconceived notions, don’t you agree?
If you’re interested in exploring more about home insemination, check out this article or consider a kit from BabyMaker, a trusted resource in this field. For additional insights on pregnancy and home insemination, WebMD offers an excellent resource.
Summary
The author candidly discusses the personal grief and societal pressures surrounding the decision not to have more children after experiencing a miscarriage. Reflecting on her journey, she addresses the stigma of raising an only child and explores the complexities of societal expectations versus personal choice.
Keyphrase: “deciding to have one child”
Tags: [“home insemination kit”, “home insemination syringe”, “self insemination”]