Stop Asking When I’m Going to Have a Second Child

Stop Asking When I’m Going to Have a Second Child

Lisa Easom

Lisa Easom

30-something year old Kentish wife, un-domestic goddess & mummy to a two-year-old mancub. I write about a bit of everything but it's mainly parenting & my struggles with mental health & chronic illness.

Expect bad jokes, toilet humour and swearing. And no shame in any of those things.... 🙂
Lisa Easom

We popped into town earlier to do some shopping and the small one was a bloody nightmare.

I balanced the shopping basket on the hood of the buggy and people looked at me like I’d committed murder.

Today is Judgemental Wednesday it seems. Meh.  Zero fucks given.

W is nigh-on surgically attached to a cuddly Po toy and the bloody thing comes everywhere with us.  He chose the supermarket to throw Po at any given opportunity and play up like a vile little monster child.

After a brief shopping trip carried out in smash-and-grab fashion we got to the checkout and he continued on his vile toddler tantrum one-man show.  Kicking, screaming, just VILE.

Did I mention he was being vile?

He was so loud, it was so embarrassing but nothing out of the ordinary for a two year old(I tell myself this on a regular basis whilst rocking back and forth muttering to myself) – I ignored him and everyone stared at me like I had six heads.

The checkout chick smiled and gave me that ‘I’m with you sister, I’ve been there’ look and was chatting away.

“Have you only got the one?” she said.

“Yes, one’s enough for me” I said, through gritted teeth, smiling like I’d had too much botox.

By this point I was trying to avoid complete nuclear meltdown; the small one was so high pitched my ear drums were about to bleed and I was expecting the windows to start shattering any time soon.

I paid and left the supermarket briskly, adopting the head down/parental walk of shame stance.

I did the usual thing I do when this happens; I walked out, angry, wanting to go and hide, drink copious amounts of wine and cry  a lot through sheer embarrassment.

And then the conversation replayed in my head.

“Have you only got the one”

This statement pisses me off for a few reasons:

  1. It doesn’t matter if you have one child or twelve; they all behave like little fuckers at times.
  2. I can’t have anymore children; adoption is our only option and although I don’t carry any desire to be pregnant or birth another child ever again, it kind of hurts a little to be reminded that my plumbing is faulty and it can’t happen.
  3. We were told we couldn’t conceive naturally and as much as my kid drives me up the wall he is our little miracle and my whole world.  “Only the one” makes it sound like he is not enough – if fate decides he is to be my only child, my heart will forever be full regardless and I can live with that.
  4. The auto-assumption that once you have one child there is a timer in your body that starts counting down until you have your second child.  But what if you only want one?  Why should people assume you want any more?
  5. It’s unfair to have one child because an only child will end up lonely/spoilt/emotionally scarred because you were too selfish to have another.  I don’t know about you but I was ‘the elder child’ and I don’t think life would have been any different; I was spoilt before and spoilt after my little sister came along.

I’m not upset or offended – it happens all the time – I find as a ‘mum-of-one’ I’m tarred with a brush that means I have an easy life because I ONLY have one child.  And if I tell someone I don’t want and can’t have anymore, they think I’m strange/odd/depressed because as a mother I should want to fill my life with many children.

Moral of the story?  Only you know your mind and your body – if you don’t want another child, it’s okay!

Doesn’t matter if you want one child or twenty(my thoughts are with your poor vagina), do whatever is best for you.

And don’t punch the checkout chick; she was only being nice.

Kind regards,

Lisa | Pass the Prosecco… Please

Passtheproseccoplease.co.uk

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