I was born and after me they threw away the mold......not so....my father wanted a boy....my mother had a hysterectomy soon after. So I became an only child. Forget being a spoiled only child. Did not happen.
Year after year I wanted a sister. Someone to play with to grow up with to confide with.
You know what Erma said: " the grass is always greener the other side of the septic tank".
As I grew up I saw my mother and her sister having enormous fight.
Fights over their children. Fights over a recipe. Fights over what kind of shoes to buy for their daughters. I heard it all. T hen my cousin and I wondered if we should have a fight too, often we just picked one so we could justify being in our own mother's corner.
So it was just natural for me to plan on having 2 or 3 children.
My first two, both girls barely 2 years apart. Then came the boy more than a decade later.
Now I figured I had done my dream.
They would all be so close and happy together and I could leave this earth just smiling
knowing they were all 3 little jewels.
STOP. Stop this nonsense, Jeannot.
The girls had dozens of fights, hair pulling name calling on both sides.
Brother came and he was their baby.
Even arguments on who would bathe him.
I looked at my husband and he came from a family of 8.
He was number 7. Most of the first 4 did not get along at all.
I was surprised. There went my idea of a Hollywood family , all getting along singing
and dancing in the sunset.
Mother of 8 was a doll and she had learned early on to let them just fight and argue.
She had no ups and no downs, she was always just one quiet line in the middle.
My children are getting older, that surprises me, I do not feel old until I look in the mirror but then I think I need a better mirror.
Over the years there have been splits when all communication was finished between me and them and also between each other. Each one had these periods. Near the end of my journey I would have hoped for closer relationships. One can't force that and maybe it is better that way.
I am thinking now that being an only child was not so bad.
Year after year I wanted a sister. Someone to play with to grow up with to confide with.
You know what Erma said: " the grass is always greener the other side of the septic tank".
As I grew up I saw my mother and her sister having enormous fight.
Fights over their children. Fights over a recipe. Fights over what kind of shoes to buy for their daughters. I heard it all. T hen my cousin and I wondered if we should have a fight too, often we just picked one so we could justify being in our own mother's corner.
So it was just natural for me to plan on having 2 or 3 children.
My first two, both girls barely 2 years apart. Then came the boy more than a decade later.
Now I figured I had done my dream.
They would all be so close and happy together and I could leave this earth just smiling
knowing they were all 3 little jewels.
STOP. Stop this nonsense, Jeannot.
The girls had dozens of fights, hair pulling name calling on both sides.
Brother came and he was their baby.
Even arguments on who would bathe him.
I looked at my husband and he came from a family of 8.
He was number 7. Most of the first 4 did not get along at all.
I was surprised. There went my idea of a Hollywood family , all getting along singing
and dancing in the sunset.
Mother of 8 was a doll and she had learned early on to let them just fight and argue.
She had no ups and no downs, she was always just one quiet line in the middle.
My children are getting older, that surprises me, I do not feel old until I look in the mirror but then I think I need a better mirror.
Over the years there have been splits when all communication was finished between me and them and also between each other. Each one had these periods. Near the end of my journey I would have hoped for closer relationships. One can't force that and maybe it is better that way.
I am thinking now that being an only child was not so bad.
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