Some people collect stamps. Others collect spouses. My family collects grandchildren.
And apparently, I have committed the ultimate act of familial treason by daring – daring! – to stop reproducing after one. Yes, just one. A solo offspring. A limited edition human. My beautiful, brilliant, 3.5-year-old daughter who can already negotiate dessert terms better than most diplomats.
You’d think I’d told them I’d joined a cult where we worship singletons and feed on the tears of grandmothers who wanted “just one more.”
Every family gathering follows the same plot. Someone mentions my daughter, someone else sighs dramatically, and then, like a well-rehearsed choir, the chorus begins:
“But she needs a sibling!”
“You can’t let her grow up alone!”
“Don’t you want her to have someone to play with?”
Ah yes. The tragedy of growing up without a personal sparring partner. How will she ever learn to share, or fight over the TV remote, or practice advanced emotional manipulation techniques?
It’s true – without a sibling, she may never experience the thrill of being blamed for something she didn’t do. How will she learn to develop lifelong grudges over Lego thefts or whose turn it was to sit in the front seat? It’s concerning, really.
But I’m willing to take that risk.
Exhibit A: Resource Allocation (or, She Gets All the Snacks)
Let’s begin with the basics – resources. In my home, there are no territorial snack wars. No “he took my banana” crises. My daughter enjoys 100% of the available parental budget for yogurt, stickers, and emotional validation.
It’s simple math: divide the love, attention, and snack supply by one instead of two. The outcome? A gloriously content child and a slightly less bankrupt parent.
Of course, some might call that “spoiling.” I call it “efficiency.”
Exhibit B: The Peace and Quiet Department
Have you ever heard the sound of two children under five fighting over a crayon? It’s the soundtrack of chaos.
Meanwhile, my mornings begin with a peaceful “Mom, Mom!,” instead of “HE HIT ME FIRST!” My coffee is still warm when I drink it. My daughter’s toys remain (relatively) intact. The walls – white (mostly, we also have three cats). My sanity – present.
I’m told this calm is unnatural. Apparently, my home should echo with the joyous shrieks of two small gladiators locked in eternal battle for parental attention. But honestly, I prefer to keep the volume at a conversational level.
Exhibit C: Advanced Socialisation Opportunities
When people ask, “But what about social skills?” They imagine daycare as the sole factory where friendships are manufactured.
It’s true – she’s not in daycare yet. Her world is smaller, slower. Our days are filled with stories, grocery runs, and long talks with anyone who’ll listen. She chats with neighbours, waves at animals and people, and studies human behaviour with the precision of a tiny anthropologist.
Her friendships come in bursts – playground pals, cousins, our friends. And that’s okay. She’s learning connection at her own pace – through curiosity, kindness, and the occasional cat who refuses to participate.
Because socialisation isn’t measured by class size. It’s about learning how to reach out, and how to be comfortable in your own company when no one reaches back.
Exhibit D: The Maternal Energy Crisis
Let’s talk about me for a second. The human incubator in this story.
When people say “you’ll regret not having another,” I want to ask, will my spine regret it too? Because last I checked, pregnancy wasn’t exactly a wellness retreat.
And toddlers? They’re not just adorable – they’re cardio with teeth. My daughter runs, negotiates, questions the laws of physics, and once tried to be the cat. I’m raising an entire circus in one person.
So, before I consider producing another “playmate,” I’d like to respectfully note: the first one hasn’t even stopped napping with a stuffed red panda named Kela. Let’s maybe not rush the casting call for Baby #2.
Exhibit E: The Myth of Built-In Companionship
The sibling sales pitch always ends with this gem:
“They’ll be best friends for life!”
Ah yes, the universal truth that every sibling pair is a harmonious duet of unconditional love. Because clearly, no brothers or sisters ever stop speaking to each other over who inherited Grandma’s ceramic rooster collection.
Let’s be real – siblings are not an automatic friendship package. They’re a coin toss between lifelong companionship and passive-aggressive Christmases.
Meanwhile, my daughter can choose her companions based on shared interests, not shared DNA. Revolutionary, I know.
Exhibit F: The Emotional Economy of Enough
There’s this persistent myth that “only children get lonely.”
But I’ve met plenty of lonely adults with full sibling rosters. Loneliness isn’t about numbers – it’s about connection. And I’d rather raise a single, well-loved, emotionally literate human than two neglected ones raised by a mother hiding in the bathroom googling “how to clone energy.”
My daughter knows she’s loved, seen, and heard – daily. She has full access to her parents’ emotional bandwidth. She doesn’t have to schedule appointments for hugs. That’s not loneliness; that’s luxury.
Exhibit G: The Environmental Argument (Bonus Round)
Every time someone suggests I “just have another,” I feel like handing them a pie chart of global resources.
Do you know what’s really sustainable? One child. One future adult who will recycle properly and inherit all the family hand-me-downs without competition.
She’ll grow up knowing her carbon footprint is already half of what it could’ve been. I’m not just a mom – I’m basically an environmentalist with stretch marks.
Exhibit H: The Grandparent Rebellion
Now, I understand – my family means well. They come from a generation where you had three kids because there were only two TV channels and birth control was a rumour.
But times have changed. Children are now hobbies that require mortgages, patience, and small business loans.
When I say, “I’m good with one,” what they hear is, “I’m denying you future grandchildren to post on Facebook.” But what I mean is: I’m giving you the joy of undivided grandparenting. You can lavish all your affection (and savings) on one perfect little human. You’re welcome.
Epilogue: The Art of Enough
So yes – my daughter is an only child. A radiant, witty, perfectly self-sufficient three-and-a-half-year-old with a developing sense of sarcasm (she got that from me, obviously).
Will she ever know the bittersweet joy of fighting over a car seat or tattling for sport? Maybe not. But she’ll know peace, attention, and the exquisite freedom of never having to share her birthday cake.
And as for me – I’ll know that one was enough. Enough love, enough laughter, enough chaos.
Besides, if I ever get the urge for another baby, I’ll just visit my family. They seem to have plenty of opinions to go around.
Erika Matic is a storyteller, reluctant grown-up, and the proud CEO of one small human. When she’s not explaining why unicorns aren’t real, she writes about motherhood and life with a wink at erikamatic.com.
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