Friendly enquiries from vaguely recognisable school friends down at my old coming-of-age pub; the kind woman at the check-out at Sainsburys; curious new colleagues over coffee. It doesn’t matter the time or place, I’ll be right in there first with a pre-emptive joke about getting my last orders baby in. Maniacal laugh optional, from them or me. Sometimes that’s enough to foil the social touretted query about having another, sometimes it’s not. I’ve a few stock responses for the latter, just in case. Being on that Halle Berry diet is currently doing the rounds. Another round of laughter. Mine from marvelling at my own ability to bluff it as an adult long enough for someone to hitch their grown up wagon to mine to have ‘just the one’.
We won’t be having another baby. Sometimes I think that’s a bit shit, but we’re coming to terms with it in our own way. We know our good fortune. I no longer hatch the fantasy of telling our daughter the good news that she can ditch her imaginary friends (James and Molly) when a new baby comes. Other people’s pregnancies don’t seem to go on forever anymore. I’ve started to share the names I had shored up, and don’t roll my eyes with the same speed at the openly stated fears from others at the (un)likelihood of their child being an only one. ‘Any of my pregnancy’ is my new phrase replacing “all of my pregnancies”, which I still hear in a slightly whiny voice bordering on pride, depending on the person uttering it. Sort of like a 30-something Ann Widdecombe crossed with a young Joan Burton.
On the day of her birth, I kept closing my eyes trying to remember what she looked like if I had to pick her out in a line-up (you never know). For the first month of her life, I swore blind we would shelter her from the downpour of life, a promise I set about proving by singing Stars Above by Maria Doyle Kennedy on loop in the half-light until the words were indistinguishable from tears. For the first two years of her life, we wanted to give her another little one. She would’ve made a great sister, as evidenced by her care and attention to detail when nursing her furry friends to sleep, the inclusion of James and Molly in most activities, and her rip roaring laugh at herself when she messes up.
For the rest of my days, I’ll be poised and ready to break up any pity-parties held in her honour. Not for her any tilted heads of sadness, nor worry at not having anyone to fight over her parents’ meagre inheritance with, or slag them off. That’s our job, for which we’re beginning to forgive ourselves.
department of speculation 
Glad to hear you’re forgiving yourselves, I almost head tilted while I wrote that.
Also glad you’re writing a blog. I love to read your writing.
Ah Binkers, my favourite of the renowned McBinkers Clan. How lovely to see you here. Thanks so much. I’d put a Belgian bun on all your houses, if I had the power.
Great to see the blog up and running! And lovely post. Good work.
Ah, thanks. Great to hear from a finely seasoned blogger.
‘Finely seasoned’. With extra salt.
Given my recent rate of about a post a month, I barely qualify as a blogger these days…
I’ve been meaning to harass you about that. Crank that keyboard up a gear, gurl.
How have I missed your blog?! How?! I love your writing, kep’em comin’.
Welcome aboard PG! I’m in good company with this blogging lark.
I’ve learned to face them down – those prolific breeders! As an only child myself, I’ve always been torn about the Kid’s status. But as you know, it’s a miracle he got here at all. (Did I mention I took up horse riding when unknowingly newly pregnant?) Why push our luck for two!
I have got to hear your pregnancy story in its entirety some time.
I veer from panic at our one’s disappointment at not having siblings, to a Zen-like acceptance of our good fortune, dipped in smug when I imagine the most challenging aspects of having a large brood. Would appreciate any lived insights to the life of an only child. Just tell me the good stuff. What were your imaginary friends called? I had three sibling and still have to rely on making my own up.
I had an imaginary dog….. The Kid hasn’t owned up to any. All those adult conversations means the Kid expects proper reasonable discussions – about everything! He also expects questions about the universe to be answered with due consideration. Good stuff is you can focus on bringing up the One to have a proper sense of humour. Good banter will help with social skills when the One has to be with Other People. You get to play on the swings yourself cos there’s a spare one. Definitely less likely to have public tantrums cos you can negotiate and anticipate what the One is going to do – without the Sibling interfering!!