'Mummy, why don't you have a baby in your belly?' The complex emotions of raising an only child.

After having my daughter, Ari, it didn't take long to figure out whether to have a second child. My body decided for me. So thoughtful! 

My hormones like to make trouble and come and go as they please. My ovaries are - not to brag - completely covered in cysts. My eggs are quite comfortable, thank you very much, and refuse to be released. Plus, I have an incapacitating chronic illness that some days leaves me bedridden, meaning that bringing another little human into our world would probably be irresponsible. 

But now my daughter is four years old, and she’s started to notice that all the families around us have two, three, and even four kids, so why does her family only have one?

Watch: Laura Byrne on being a 'good mum'. Post continues below. 

Why isn’t there a baby in your belly?

The questions began a few months ago. 

"Mummy, do I have a sister?"

"Mummy, am I a big sister?"

"Mummy, why don’t you have a baby in your belly?"

Even some of my daughter’s buddies have started demanding to know when she’ll have a sibling. 

"When will Ari have a little brother or sister?"

I try to answer it the best I can and keep it light, but there’s something crushing about that question being asked by a preschooler.

"My belly is broken" or "Mummy’s belly doesn’t work" are my go-to’s. In my grief what I actually want to say is, "Life is futile, the universe doesn’t care what you want, your toys will outlive you, and nothing matters anyway."

Sure, nihilism probably isn’t entirely appropriate for four-year-olds, but the truth is, I struggle to coach my daughter through her feelings about wanting siblings, while also trying to navigate my own grief. And I know that every time she brings it up the wound will be opened once again.

She’ll be spoiled if you’re not careful.

Only children cop a lot of flack. Not from their peers, but (weirdly) from adults who are convinced that only children are selfish, anti-social, and bratty. Nice.

"Oh yes, I can tell you’re an only child" is a delightfully common phrase Ari is likely to hear throughout her life. "Be careful you don’t spoil her" is one that I already hear. Rest assured that as a living, breathing human woman, I have already come up with every possible reason I will ruin my daughter’s life, and not being able to give her a sibling is one of them. 

Will she be lonely?

Will she be unhappy?

How will she bear the responsibility of ageing parents all by herself?

What if she grows up and hates me for not giving her brothers and sisters and the resentment builds and builds and builds until one day she cracks under pressure and murders me? 

Alright, that last one is a bit of a stretch but seriously, what if she never learns to share?

I constantly feel like I’m failing my daughter - that maybe the problem is me and I’m not trying hard enough. These feelings are only exacerbated by my own desire to expand our family, but as all my friends grow their tribes, I can’t help but feel left behind.

Listen to Mamamia's parenting podcast This Glorius Mess. Post continues below.

There are a few positives to having just one kid. 

Look, I have to admit there are a few perks to being one and done. 

Getting out the door is easier, there’s less laundry, cleaning the house doesn’t take as long and when we go out, I only have to keep my eyeballs on one kid. When we have playdates, I can feel the panic rising because I do not understand how it’s possible to keep track of more than one little human at once. They move so fast! Two were just beside me, now one is running towards the road! And where is the other one?! 

And although I’m sad that the baby years are behind me, I’m also relieved. Sleep deprivation is no joke and I’m thrilled that soon I’ll never hear "MUM, COME WIPE MY BUTT" again. 

 My daughter is enough.

Something I’ve learned since Ari was born is that grief and gratitude can exist side by side. I mourn what I can’t have, yet I’m filled with joy for what I do. There are many people whose hearts long to have even just one baby, so I know how immensely privileged I am. 

 But what is most important to me is that I never, ever want my daughter to feel like she’s not enough, because she is. Truly. I can’t believe I get to be her mum. Every night after lights out, Ari chooses a topic she’d like us to chat about, and as I try to explain why fairies are small and why humans don’t have wings, I can feel my heart spilling over with love. I just can't believe my luck. 

Imagine wanting more than this! How could I? It's perfect.

Jane can be found either reading, writing or playing dress-ups with her daughter (and two cats). She once saved the Universe at the Doctor Who Interactive Experience in Wales, but apparently this is not "resume material."

Feature Image: Supplied. 

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