It’s a common question I encounter: “Are you planning to have more children?” This curiosity often arises when strangers see me with just one child. However, what follows can sometimes be disheartening. The remark, “You should really have more kids; your daughter can’t be an only child!” often stings. Is there truly anything wrong with having a single child? To the casual observer, we may appear to be a standard family of three, radiating joy and laughter. But beneath that surface lies a complex narrative filled with challenges such as infertility, the anguish of child loss, and the anxiety that follows a premature birth. This is why I wish people would refrain from asking if my partner and I intend to expand our family.
From a young age, I envisioned myself as a mother. I often imagined having two children, a warm home filled with love, and perhaps a dog running around in a yard with a white picket fence. Yet life has a way of veering off course. My partner and I faced years of heartache due to infertility. Each month was filled with anticipation, only to have our hopes dashed by negative pregnancy tests. It felt as though fate was playing a cruel trick on us. Why were we, a couple who desperately wanted children, unable to conceive?
Our journey took an unexpected turn when we learned we were expecting triplets—a moment filled with both shock and joy, as we thought our family was finally complete. We began to prepare for our new arrivals, stocking up on baby supplies. However, just five months into the pregnancy, I went into premature labor, leading to the birth of our babies who were over 17 weeks early.
Experiencing the loss of a child is a tragedy that no one can prepare for. It is a reality so devastating that it seems impossible to comprehend. Tragically, two of our triplets passed away within two months. Those early days were enveloped in grief, and even getting out of bed felt like a monumental task.
As reality sunk in, I became increasingly concerned about how our family would be perceived. After the passing of our first daughter, I wondered what people would think; would they assume my children were twins? Following the loss of my son two months later, I found myself worrying once again. Strangers would never know that our surviving child was one of triplets. Would the memory of our lost children be overshadowed?
After enduring countless therapies and medical appointments, our surviving triplet has grown into a healthy and thriving child. Her fragile beginnings now feel like a distant memory. As we embrace our life with one child on earth and two in Heaven, my partner and I have found our peace. Our family is complete, and we no longer dwell on the “what ifs.”
Recently, while shopping, a stranger complimented my daughter’s cuteness and then proceeded to ask the dreaded question: “Are you going to have more children?” Although I understood it was mere small talk, the inquiry made me uncomfortable. I gently explained that we are perfectly happy with our miracle child, which led to the comment I’ve come to detest: “She can’t be an only child.”
I managed a smile even as tears threatened to spill. Taking a deep breath, I responded, “She’s not an only child. She has a brother and sister in Heaven who love her dearly.” As I walked away, I glanced at my daughter, who may appear to be our only living child, but she will always be part of a trio. Our family’s identity is not determined by how many children we have here on earth; we are complete just as we are.
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In summary, the journey of parenting an only child can be filled with unspoken complexities and emotions that others may not recognize. Our family may look conventional from the outside, but our experiences have shaped us into a unique unit, proud of our story.