Help! I Had a Very Specific Vision for My Life as a Mom. I’m Distraught That It Never Came True.
Dear Prudence is Slate’s advice column. Submit questions here. (It’s anonymous!)
I am 50 years old, and I am having a terrible time battling memories and decisions from the past.
Through a variety of illnesses, decisions, and secondary infertility, my son, who is now 19, is my only child. Do not get me wrong, I am thrilled to have at least one child when I know there are many women longing for a baby. But the thing is, I wanted a house full of children. I wanted the chaos, the noise, the big family. My husband and I tried for five years after my son and I never got pregnant again.
I know what is said now about only children: They are usually bright, have great imaginations and vocabularies. But that doesn’t erase the memory of my son asking for a sibling or the sight of him sitting at the end of the driveway waiting for someone to come outside so they could play; or the sight of him jumping alone on the trampoline or swimming in the pool by himself.
Prudie, I don’t know how to get over this loss of the future I thought I’d have, even 19 years later. It can bring me to tears in a second. I have panic attacks because I know I’ll never have another child. My greatest fear is that my son is lonely and missing a sibling, as it is such a learning and socialization experience. He works, goes to college, and has a small friend group, but I can’t help but worry about him being devastated by the fact that I’ll never have another child. I do not know how to get past it. I do see a therapist weekly, but please help.
Dear Heart Half Empty,
The way these feelings are bringing you down—and causing panic, even—despite the fact that all is well with your son, is perfect material for therapy. You’d be amazed at the way a professional who is a good fit for you can take a situation that seems hopelessly sad and depressing and tweak the way you see it just enough to give you some relief and hope. You deserve this kind of help. Think of how sad you are when you imagine that your son was lonely as he jumped on the trampoline by himself. It’s every bit as sad that your grief is keeping you from enjoying the person he is today. While you can’t change the past, you actually can decrease your suffering in the present.
In the meantime, talk to him! He may be able to put your mind at ease a bit by revealing that his childhood memories don’t line up with yours. Remind yourself that what you imagine a home with multiple kids would have been like might not have been what you would have actually experienced. I’m sure if you survey your friends, family, and a few co-workers, you’ll find plenty of examples of people who want nothing to do with their siblings, have resented them since childhood, or are constantly hurting each other as adults. You may have saved your son from having an in-house nemesis whom he’d one day fight with over your estate!
But seriously, even if none of those awful scenarios transpired, the fact is that you would have had to split your attention if you’d had more children. Yes, everyone agrees that your heart expands to love multiple kids, but your time doesn’t. Take it from me, someone who has agonized over the past year about how much less time I have with my preschooler since his sister was born—and how much less one-on-one attention she gets than he once did. If you’re a sensitive person who cares deeply about your son (and it sounds like you are), it’s very possible that if he did have siblings, you’d be experiencing a different kind of grief and anxiety, stemming from the same intense concern about giving him the best possible life.
One last idea: You should encourage him to bring some of his college friends home during school breaks and get to know them. Relationships between young adults and their friends’ parents are underappreciated. Obviously, these connections don’t replicate a parent-child bond exactly, but they can feel really nice in a similar way. Plus, there might be someone out there who wishes they had a mom who could be there for them just as much as you wish you had another child.
I got engaged recently, and while I’m so happy to be marrying a wonderful man, there’s one little problem: I hate and am embarrassed by the ring he bought me. The diamond is so big, and the setting so flashy, it’s completely unlike the kind of rings most of my friends got…