The Only Child

Another snow day here in New York. The good thing is, that when school’s canceled, it means we can breakfast a bit later and take more time to prepare. This morning I made the most delicious tomato marmalade, following a Swedish recipe. You take 20 cherry tomatoes, cut them in halves and put them in a pot, add the zest and juice of an orange (I used blood oranges) and about 1 cup of regular sugar and bring to a boil. Turn down the heat and let simmer until you get the texture you want (it took me about 50 minutes). I tripled the recipe.

My husband and I have only one child. Me, too, I am an only child. I can’t begin to tell you how often people, many times people who don’t even know me, think it’s perfectly all right to step up and tell me how selfish it is of me to not give my son a sibling. It’s almost as if having only one child is something akin to a crime.

There are also times when people ask us if the reason we’re having only one child has to do with some physical problem.

But I only ever wanted one child. And I’ll try to explain why.

Growing up, I never wanted any siblings. People often think only children are spoilt rotten or that they are very lonely and therefore incapable of adjusting socially as adults. Though I was often alone, I never felt lonely. An only child has to develop skills to entertain herself without the aid of others. The first and most important relationship you will ever have on this earth after all, is the one you have with yourself, and in my experience adults who grew up as only children, are often more successful in their relationship to their selves, than others. They depend on themselves, and they are not afraid of being left alone.

The only child learns, at an early stage, how to deal with loneliness and make it productive. Sure, an only child tend to get all the focus and attention, but I’ve never understood why having to fight for attention should be thought of as conducive. And if you’re one of many, you might feel you have to do just that.

Not having a brother or sister to compete with, living up to, or model herself after leaves the only child with an enormous freedom to develop herself. It’s like drawing on a huge piece of paper upon which nobody else has drawn before you, and upon which nobody will add anything after either.

As for having children, I always knew what I was capable of. I knew I had limitations. I am not a very patient person. I prefer a tranquil rather than a rambunctious home. I need a lot of time on my own, to read and to think, which is near impossible if you have more children. I also wanted to mimic the intense and close relationship I had with my mother, with my son. And I don’t think I would have been able to spread that sort of intensity to more than one child; again I know my limitations.

Lastly, I have to smile when I realize that those who are most vocal about the disadvantages of being an only child are those who themselves have siblings! I admire people with big families, I think it’s a wonderful thing, but I know that it is not for me.  There are pros and cons to everything, and families come in all sorts of shapes and sizes. What’s important, I believe, is that there’s a sense of belonging, a sense of “home”, and that you know in your heart of hearts that you’re loved for who you are.

Being an only child is not the bane many people think it is. In fact, I wouldn't have it any other way. Above, me at age 4 on our balcony.