I’m happy we're only having one child… but I still have lots of feelings

Unpacking our 'one and done' decision

Party of Three…

Towards the end of last year, I started to pack up some of my son’s things to give to charity. I’d been holding onto clothes that he hadn’t worn since 2022, and stuff he hadn't used for months - a baby bouncer, a small cot - because I wasn’t sure if we would need them again. Now I know that we won’t. 

After some considered talks, my husband and I have decided to join a growing number of families by deciding that we are only going to have one child. In the end, it was quite an easy verdict to land on. No one had to ‘win’ their case, but we did talk about it openly, taking into account both the benefits of one child, and our fears that came with that choice. It opened up a much bigger discussion - and a good one - about the sort of life we wanted to lead together. 

It’s difficult to get reliable and up-to-date figures for the number of people choosing to have one child as the size of families changes all the time and my generation isn’t done having kids yet. But in 2022, the Office for National Statistics data showed that for women who turned 45 in 2021, 17% had only one child compared to 13% for their mothers’ generation. While it’s a trend we’re seeing across the western world, it might be more helpful to look at it anecdotally. I can list the number of only children my age that I know on one hand, but I’d need a few more fingers to list the couples I know who are choosing to only have one child. Their reasons range from the cost of childcare to the climate crisis to their mental wellbeing. It would be remiss not to also acknowledge the couples for whom, sadly, having only one child isn’t their choice. It is a grief I can only imagine and one that doesn’t get its due recognition.

We came to the decision to be a ‘one and done’ family for many reasons. Obviously they’re expensive; a 2022 study found that the average cost for a UK couple to raise one child til they’re 18 is ​​£157,562. But in the end it was our lifestyle that clinched it. We like to do nice things and travel and we relish the small bit of freedom afforded to being a one-child family. Getting out the house at the weekend to visit restaurants and exhibitions is easy rather than a military exercise. Of course you can still get on a plane or go out to eat with a few more kids but it’s definitely harder, and will cost you significantly more. 

Puglia with the two-month-old

I also didn’t want to be pregnant again. Overall I had a pretty easy pregnancy but it still, for want of a better word, sucked: I could hardly eat, experienced waves of hormonal depression in my first trimester, sleep was difficult, and I found the whole thing, well, really boring. And then there’s the newborn stage, which, as brief as it may be, I truly felt I couldn’t revisit.

Besides, since our son arrived 20 months ago, we’ve found a nice rhythm in our new life. As of last September, he has been in nursery four days a week, which he loves. My husband is busy finishing writing his latest book and I am launching my freelance career after being an Editor-in-Chief for much of my thirties. We are all working on things we are happy with, and to upset that now would be challenging. More than anything, we just feel like our family is complete. I feel fortunate beyond belief to have my baby, something I had longed for - sometimes secretly and quietly - for many years. I was 39 when I had him. 

I was lucky enough to get pregnant quite easily and so, while there was a chance that things might not be so favourable if I tried again at 40, I wasn’t that put off by stats about dwindling fertility. As a former editor for a women’s publication, as well as simply having female friends, I know only too well the pain and struggle of infertility, but I do think it’s important to also let women know that it can happen past 35. With a number of my friends having had babies in their early 40s, it felt like if I wanted to go for it, I could have at least tried. We’ve just decided not to.

And yet… I do still harbour reservations. I grew up with two brothers and was used to a raucous home life. I know little about one-child families and I wonder how my son will find it. I don’t subscribe to outdated Victorian notions that only children end up being selfish but I do hope he won’t be lonely (I know this is not a worry for a lot of parents but I’m merely sharing my own fears here). You hear a lot about the joys of a ‘full table’ when all the siblings are grown up; our Christmases will likely eventually be the three of us and that’s a picture far from what I imagined I’d end up with. My two brothers and my son’s cousins all live in Sydney, an opportunity granted by my Australian mother, and my American husband’s family are all in the US. We are surrounded by friends but scant family.

And then there’s the little girl I’ll never have. Obviously if I had another child I would be in no way guaranteed a daughter, but you do mark a line under ever having the chance of meeting her when you decide that your family is complete. I love my son more than anything and, for what it’s worth, I actually think two little boys would be absolutely delightful, but having a daughter has been something I’ve thought about since I was a teenager and once we decided we were done, it felt a little like saying goodbye to something, or someone. 

In Claire Kilroy’s magnificent book about early motherhood, Soldier Sailor (which I wrote about in an earlier newsletter this week), the narrator (the titular Soldier) tells her small son (Sailor): “I would have loved a little sister for you. Bet you didn’t know that, Sailor. She had a name and all. I cried thinking of her last night.” 

I certainly can’t speak for everyone, but I think it is a sentiment that many women share. Much to my sadness, I never had a sister. I thought maybe I would have some female solidarity later in life. But it wasn’t to be. 

One of the challenges I found when we settled on one child is that I struggled to imagine what my life might look like when my son was older. I don’t know any older women with a single, grown-up son and I don’t have any close male friends who are an only child. When I’m attempting to process unfamiliar situations, I often find it helpful to look to other people’s circumstances to help me navigate my own. Yet in this instance there was a void.

And then one day I struck upon it: Annella Perlman. She could be my mother-to-an-only-son role model. Annella was the mother of Elio Perlman (played by Timothée Chalamet) in Call Me By Your Name. Portrayed by Amira Casar, Annella is warm, smart, chic, in a happy marriage, and clearly a loving mother to her only child. Plus, you know, that house. OK it may be a fictitious family, but this was a life I could get behind. 

Now, with our choices firmly made, I am excited for the future. One that includes travel and writing and, yes, just a little bit more freedom than another child would allow. Having come from one, I love big families, and while I may look on enviously from time to time, I also know that our little party of three is everything I’ll ever need. 

What I’ve been enjoying this week…

My old flatmate Henry took me for a night out in Mayfair where I broke my Dry Jan (hey, ten days isn’t bad!) for a couple of cocktails to accompany the most delicious dinner at the new Italian restaurant The Dover: prawn cocktail, spaghetti and meatballs, cheesecake. Based on New York Italian joints, I can’t recommend this super chic spot enough. 

What I’ve not been enjoying this week…

I simply can no longer take the cliffhangers at the end of every episode of BBC’s The Traitors. It’s more torturous than being stuck in a dungeon with Paul.