Only Child, Mother of 3

Only Child, Mother of 3

By Erin Morrison-Fortunato

I am an only child and, while there are many advantages to being an only child, having a built in support network of relatives who share the same home, parenting and life experiences, and genetics as you isn't one of them.

I've been asked why, as an only child, I chose to have three children of my own.  Here are the answers.           

Quiet

My Childhood: I had my own room and lived in a home with two adults. There was plenty of quiet.

My Children’s Childhood: Every word spoken by our children is screamed at the top of their lungs. Even if I am sitting directly adjacent to my daughter, with my ear in plain view, she will yodel her message as if communicating a dire warning to a small German town far from our home in Western New York. 

They scream when they are happy. They scream when they are sad. They scream when they are tired. They scream when they are mad. They scream at each other and, seemingly, at no one at all. In my children’s minds, there is no situation inappropriate for screaming or crying.

It goes without saying that one of them is always crying.

Independence

My Childhood: I was, by necessity, independent. My best friend lived a few houses away and my parents played with me, but I was entirely able to entertain myself. As a result, I’ve never felt awkward going to a movie or sitting at a café on my own.

Always having had ready access to time alone during my childhood ruined me for motherhood.  Now, as a working mother of three, I crave time alone with a passion I would otherwise reserve for Ryan Gosling. 

My Children’s Childhood: None of these children want to be alone. Ever. They want to be entertained, petted, and fawned over without exception. When I am very clearly in the middle of completing tasks essential to the everyday functioning of our home, my children peek around corners at me, doe-eyed, pouty lipped and whining: “Mommy, will you read me a book?”  Masters of the guilt trip. Clearly, I’d rather play than chore, but our home will cease to operate if I don’t do what I need to do. Not to mention, I have personally birthed two playmates for each of my children. Play with them!  

Attention

My Childhood:  I received all of the attention I could ever possibly have desired. I had no one with whom to compete. I was always the cutest, best behaved kid in the house, no matter what horribly awkward stage I may have been mired in at that moment.

My Children’s Childhood: They have to share, which teaches them the valuable lesson that they don’t get everything they want just because they want it. But, leads to some nasty sibling rivalry.

What red-blooded lady hasn’t imagined a group of jealous people arguing over who will get to touch her? I just didn’t imagine that that group would include an 8-year-old, 5-year-old, and 3-year-old. I can only accommodate two of three children in my arms, so the third is left to crawl around on my belly, jamming his or her elbows into my flesh while whining that it’s his or her turn for an arm. It’s relaxing and enjoyable.

Aggression

My Childhood: I would wrestle with my dad, but the moment that I was even lightly bruised, I would surrender in tears and retreat into a book. 

I have a distinct, traumatizing memory which involves my cousins (three siblings) teasing me by playing monkey in the middle with my special blankie. I, of course, was the monkey. Unused to this type of teasing, I reacted as if I were being water boarded. 

My Children’s Childhood: As I watch my children rolling around on the floor, seemingly strangling each other with various WWE death holds, my heart races. 

“Is this normal? Should we stop them?” I inquire of my husband, who grew up with a brother. 

“Nah…they’re fine,” he replies nonchalantly.

“But, someone is gonna get hurt,” I say anxiously.

“That’s kinda the point,” he reassures.

And, inevitably, someone does incur a minor injury and comes running for hugs and healing mommy kisses. But, inevitably, he or she rejoins the fray swinging. And, I return to observing, holding a death grip on the arms of my chair to prevent my refereeing their fun.

LOVE

My Childhood: There is absolutely no doubt that I was loved and hugged and kissed and appreciated and cared for. I was my parents’ first priority in every day and decision.

My Children’s Childhood: There is absolutely no doubt that my children are loved and hugged and kissed and appreciated and cared for. They are their parents’ first priority in every day and decision. And, they are so very fortunate to have their siblings to love (if not always like) and by whom to be loved. They will understand (and commiserate about) one another’s childhoods in a way that no one else can.  They have a built-in loud, aggressive, jealous, co-dependent, loving support system. The worst and greatest gift I have ever given my children, their siblings.