My second child is cat
By Molly Nourmand, LMFT
“Just one?” Just one. Prior to starting a family, I thought I wanted two kids. I am from a family with two kids. Plus it theoretically sounds good. I even held on to this idea after I had my first child, for a while. I held onto it because it is more of the norm, it is what society tells us to do, it is what I know, and wait for it–she needs a sibling. Plus, my husband wants more than one child. In fact, he wants three children. (He is from three.) As a recovering people pleaser, I tried to imagine creating another child. I waited for the desire, the way I had the desire to “have a baby.” In my Type A mind, it seemed as simple as checking a box—as if the said baby would just seamlessly fit into my life like an accessory. Friends and acquaintances of mine who had babies at the same time as me, or even after, were having their second. It brought up stuff for me. I projected, “How do they want to do this again?” No seriously though, those of you with more than one child: Do you genuinely have the desire to do it again, or are you feeling the pressure to do it? Or a bit of both. I judged. Having two kids started to feel prescriptive to me.
It wasn’t until the pandemic arrived that I was faced with mourning the idea of a second child. I had kept my daughter's baby stuff for nearly 3 ½ years because of the phantom baby I was going to have. I kept it because I wasn’t ready to declare what feels right for me: one child. And practically speaking, I didn’t want to have to buy all new stuff, ya know? Even though my husband wants more children, he is more of a minimalist than me. Our back house had been used as a second garage since our daughter arrived. As she grew out of every accessory and clothing item–it went in the back house. When we were ordered to WFH, my husband needed the space as a home office, so I was finally faced with putting the final nail in the coffin of that second child. What surfaced for me while letting go of the baby stuff was unexpected grief. Grieving this conceptional second child. I’m the second child. What if my parents had stopped at one? Grieving the need to do what is expected of me, and having to sit with the repercussions of getting my way.
I had no idea having one child would be so against the grain. Yet on a daily basis, I’m faced with the questions:
“Just one?”
“Does your daughter have a sibling?”
“Do you want more?”
Yes. No. No.
Sometimes it’s irritating. And yet it’s gotten to the point where it doesn’t bother me because I feel firm in my choice. And as I write this, I acknowledge my privilege. Some people have an idea of why I don’t want more kids, but here is why I am one and done:
I had a traumatic birth and postpartum period
I had postpartum depression
My marriage got challenged when we became parents
My parents live across the country
Where we live isn’t walkable
My neighbors don’t have small children
I don’t live close to that many friends
I’m currently 42
I love my career and have lots of ambitions
My daughter wasn’t an easy baby and she is a spirited child
I don’t have the desire for more kids
I don’t want to be pregnant, give birth, breastfeed, or be that degree of sleep deprived again
I’m already overwhelmed with one
I’m highly sensitive and get overstimulated easily
I feel complete with my daughter
I had a girl first so I don’t need to “try for a girl”
My daughter is so attached, I fear she would be very jealous of another child
We have a cat
Sometimes when asked, “Just one?” In a compensatory way I say that we have a cat, too. Our cat, Nini is a pandemic pet. She is a rescue. My MIL discovered a cat family living under her house. The irony is that my husband isn’t a cat person. I’m a cat person though. Prior to moving to Los Angeles in 2004, I always lived with felines. I missed having a cat as a roommate, but my husband is allergic. I am shocked that he allowed us to bring Nini home. (Our daughter named her, by the way.) Shortly after he fell in love with her and became a cat person. Sort of. Luckily she is a Russian Blue which is supposedly hypoallergenic, so we didn’t have any issues with allergies being triggered.
To me, our family feels complete with our cat. I know folks say this about their second or third child, but we can’t imagine life without her. Living with two extroverts, I feel outnumbered, so I love that I have a fellow introvert in the house now too. (“That made my ears go back, too,” I whisper to her as I pet her in an attempt to regulate my nervous system.) She is very independent, a good eater, quiet, naps all day and was potty trained from day one. We go out of town for a few days without arranging “child” care. Sound dreamy? It is. The only downside is that she does like waking me around 5am to feed her.
Do I still gush at babies–especially when I’m ovulating? Yes. Do I ever have pangs of doubt for my choice when I see siblings share sweet moments? Yes. And yet I find that cultivating community helps with this. I call my friends’ infants my “rent-a-babies” and my daughters’ cousins and friends “rent-a-siblings.” The good news is, I can hand the baby back to their parents when they have a dirty diaper and/or are crying. My daughter rarely fights with other kids, but I can end the playdate if they are not getting along, or if she has a meltdown.
Anyways, I’m not trying to justify my decision to have one child or convince you that that is what you should do; however, I’m attempting to explain why the word “just” which implies a deficit, should be removed from the phrase, “just one.”