motherhood: on being enough

“So, you just have one child?” she asked, optimistically. “You’re not having any more?” I’d been speaking to this stranger—a prospective, senior colleague—about work. But it was over motherhood that we bonded. She wanted to know if I was happy, if I had regrets, if she too could choose this path. She was asking me—someone she’d known for 20 minutes—to validate her choice.

One. Only. Single. When applied to a child, the overwhelming feeling is of insufficiency. Whose heart hasn’t melted, as the four-year-old sister places her arm protectively around her baby brother? As she bends down to gently kiss his cheek? When I was six and being teased by my older neighbour, my three-year-old sister hurtled towards the girl, head-first, and bit her stomach in my defence. Unconditional, precious, sibling love. My parents were (not-so) secretly proud.