I should be asleep. (Said the soon-to-be grumpy one)

But I read this blog post a while ago, (shared by a very special friend) and I can’t stop thinking about it.


It’s beautiful. And I get it.

Even though God has (so graciously!) given me peace and contentment with having an only child, there are still times when I wonder if I’m missing something. Don’t misunderstand, I am truly content. One of the many things I’ve learned about myself through being Bug’s mom, is that one is enough for me, for the kind of mom I am. Once upon a time, I dreamed of having four kids running around. Now I look back and wonder what kind of drugs I was on that would have made me think I was cut out for that!  I’m lazy. A LOT of the time. I’m not great at playing the pretend games my daughter wants to play. Getting in the floor to play with Legos generally means 3 days of recovery. And Tag? Fuggetaboutit!

Even my husband often talks of wishing we had more, and in those moments it becomes harder to accept that I can’t give him that. Those are tough moments. I know I’m content. I know our little family is just right. But I can’t help wondering what it would be like if our other kiddos were here with us.

I’m nowhere near being the mom I want to be, and I know all moms feel that way. There’s a unique sort of pressure that comes with mothering an only, though. “I only have one go at this parenting thing. Dear God, let me get it right!”

Sometimes though, the most difficult thing is that people seem to think it’s weird or strange that I could have found contentment with raising one child. It almost seems that maybe they think I’m not a “real mom.” I don’t understand the “real” struggle. And in a way, they’re right, I don’t. My struggles are different.

They forget. Or maybe they don’t understand.  I’m a mama of four. Four.

But even in those moments when I wonder if I’m missing something, my  Bug fills me with all the mama-joy my heart can hold, more happiness than I dreamed of, and more love than I imagined. From her tiny start, even at just over a pound and a half, God gave her the power to fill that big empty spot in my heart to overflowing.

But still, I understand the doubts and the insecurities my sister “only” moms feel. I remember those due dates, and death dates, and anniversaries, and  birthdays that never came, with you, Mom. We celebrate our Onlys, who fill those kid-size holes in our hearts.  And we celebrate those babies of ours who dance, and play together, at the feet of Jesus. We are honored to be Mamas of all of them.

On Being an “Only” Mom