“Is he your only child?” the woman at the park inquires, an innocent smile on her face.
“Yes, just him,” I say, bracing myself for the inevitable follow-up question.
“Are you planning to have another?” Her tone is light, though the inquiry feels deeply personal.
No, we are not expanding our family.
Why is it that strangers feel entitled to probe into our family planning? If you choose to ask such a loaded question, be ready for an unfiltered response.
“We’re not. My partner and I spent 18 months trying. I experienced a miscarriage and later faced endometrial complications. I even turned to acupuncture and Chinese herbs. Now, we’ve moved on from our donor, so that chapter is closed.” I deliver this information bluntly, hoping to make her a bit uncomfortable for being so intrusive.
“Oh, I’m truly sorry,” she responds, her expression shifting to one of pity.
A year ago, I miscarried at home, unaware that this would be our final opportunity for a second child. We kept trying, but despite multiple conceptions, successful implantation eluded us. Thankfully, we had a known donor, sparing us from mounting expenses, but inviting “the guy” over repeatedly without success became increasingly awkward and frustrating.
The most heartbreaking aspect was that we had already shared our plans with our son. For months, he kept asking if there was a baby in my belly, leading to painful conversations about where the baby “went.” He would toss coins into wishing wells, hoping for a “healthy” sibling. Thankfully, that phase has passed; now he’s more interested in getting a cat.
As for me, I have been mourning the future I once envisioned. Letting go of that dream and finding acceptance in our family of three has been a journey. The grief of a miscarriage is peculiar; it often feels like mourning an idea, something that never fully existed. Yet, the hopes and dreams attached to that idea are substantial.
Waiting until my late 30s to start a family was my choice, but Mother Nature had other plans. I wasn’t prepared for the guilt that accompanied my sorrow—an unwelcome guest at my dinner table of emotions. The weight of guilt for not being able to provide my child with a sibling, for the loneliness he might feel, and for not fulfilling the traditional family structure I grew up with is heavy.
Currently, I’m reading “One and Only: The Freedom of Having an Only Child, and the Joy of Being One” by Anna Peterson, which has been both comforting and enlightening. It discusses how societal biases against only children originate from a time when large families were essential for survival. Today, however, these outdated perceptions persist, often leading to stereotypes about only children being lonely or spoiled.
When I was younger, I envisioned a life that included a university degree, a partner, and two children. As it turns out, that vision didn’t materialize. Growing up in a traditional family instilled in me the expectation of having two kids, but now I grapple with feelings of guilt—not just for my son, but for being okay with having one child. The stigma against choosing to have only one child is palpable; society tends to view family structures as either none or two and above.
I am aware of the whispers that might suggest I am selfish or that my child is missing out on something essential. Yes, some women do prioritize their careers over family, and there’s nothing inherently wrong with that.
As I work through my grief, I am releasing the burdensome guilt and approaching the future with an open heart and a curious mind. I cherish the life I’ve built so far and recognize my blessings. The more I let go of societal expectations, the lighter I feel. I believe we all can break free from these confines, don’t you?
For more insights on family planning and reproductive health, you can check out resources like this excellent guide. If you’re interested in exploring home insemination options, visit this site for further details. Additionally, for those looking into home insemination kits, Make a Mom offers authoritative information.
Conclusion
To summarize, navigating the journey of family planning can be filled with emotional challenges, societal expectations, and personal grief. By sharing our experiences and understanding that family structures can vary, we can find peace and acceptance in our unique paths.