…we’d all be riding horses or be millionaires or whatever…
Here’s the prompt and all that it implies.
I am an only child, which simultaneously does and does not explain most everything about me. (Another story, another time.) My parents love me and doted on me. But the one thing that I most wanted in the world did not come true.
I wanted a baby brother or sister. I tossed coins into fountains, wished on stars, and prayed hard for a sibling. But nothing ever came of it. I eventually stopped wishing and turned my attention to other things.
But looking back on the thing – and our own fertility problems – it makes me wonder if my parents didn’t have fertility problems of their own. I was born four years after they married – not a big deal now – but I wonder back then how big of a deal it actually was. My mother’s siblings each have three or four kids of their own and in turn have at least three or four kids of their own as well.
I can’t exactly ask my parents. They’d ignore my question completely. But somehow this might be the case. I wonder if my mom’s (gentle) pressure to have grandkids is her longing to have more kids. I don’t know. I’ll never know, unfortunately.
And isn’t that a shame?