Skip to main content

Is an Only Lonely?

So it's January, a new year and the Prince and I have returned to the topic most popular/unpopular in our life: Baby Due. Popular because we just can't seem to stop talking about it. Unpopular because we can't just seem to stop talking about it.

I have reached the place where I firmly believe that raising The Rabbit as an ONLY is not a curse placed upon her head. There are plenty of studies that now show an only child as modeling behavior similar to the oldest child -- ie, fine. And being a mother who chooses to have just one doesn't make me feel like some heinous selfish monster despite the will of the (s)mothers.

But I am also feeling like, 'Is this it?' And wondering if I am ready to surrender this part of my life for good. It's one thing to waiver back and forth -- both options remain. It's quite another to choose one and make the decision permanent.

There's a great story in this month's Parenting magazine which I think articulates these feelings very well...(there are a couple of great stories in February's issue actually....)

In the meantime, as The Prince and I sit on our Humpty Dumpty of a wall, I'll keep boring you all with our angst and indecision. Lovely right?


Sugarmama said…
If it's at all helpful, the 'Is this it?' feeling doesn't seem to go away no matter how many kids you have. There's something just difficult about shutting down the baby factory whether you have 1 or 3 or 10, but it's the modern era, right? We've gotta stop sometime!
Manhattan Mama said…
Thanks Sugarmama. That is helpful. Although, in this modern age, with 55 year old women having twins, I think you almost don't have to stop. However, I don't think I'm hardy enough to imagine myself flying to my child's college graduation by cashing my social security check. Thankfully there's a few more years left on this old gray mare....

Popular posts from this blog

Apologies for being incommunicado this week and hope none of you out there are too distraught not to be receiving the usual almost-daily MotV missives. The reason for the silence is that I'm up to my neck, metaphorically-speaking, in research papers for my first grad course assessment. This experience has made me realise how rigorously un-academic I am in my thinking. It has also illuminated how reliant I am on red wine in order to get through endless evenings typing furiously on my laptop, not to mention the fueling of increasingly colorful curses that I feel obliged to aim at the University's online library system which consistently refuses to spit out any of the journals I'm desperate for (I refuse to believe this is 100% due to my technical incompetence...)Oh well, if this is the price one has to pay in order to realize a long-cherished dream then it's not all that bad... No one ever said a mid-life career change would be easy. Wish me luck!

Recommended & the Mahiki dance-off

My GFs and I went to Mahiki last night, great fun as usual but made me feel a bit old; it seems that Thursday night is the playground of the just-past-pubescent. Oh well. Good tunes though, so whatever.In between taking over the dancefloor - the youngsters may have youth on their side but frankly that shrinks to insignificance in the face of two decades of clubbing experience - one of my GFs and I got into a conversation about why so many people are full of bull.It appears that many people we come across are content to live their lives in a superficial way, skimming the surface of what life has to offer and equating the ownership of stuff (cars, houses, boats, jewelry, designer clothes) with happiness. They converse in terms of status, strut their possessions as a measure of their own self-worth, take themselves far too seriously, are quick to judge others, easily annoyed, complain a lot about very little and their worries seem to far outweigh their joys. Personally, I think all that…


Following on from the realisation that my lungs are filthy and if I don't give up the smokes soon I face a life of wheezing at best, off I trotted to see the charming Dr T.

Dr T, who's charming by virtue of the fact that he's less jaded than the other doctors in the surgery (in other words, he treats patients as if they're human beings with a right to NHS services rather than annoying fraudsters trying to gain sympathy for imaginary illnesses) promptly put me on potentially habit-forming drugs to get me off the evil weed. Something doesn't feel quite right about this but since I'm so pathetically grateful to have a doctor who's willing to give me more than two seconds of his precious time, I have acquiesced to his demands.

Anyway, this wonder drug is called Champix and promises to have me merrily chucking my smokes in the bin in no time. Or it will if I can get past the possible side effects, the highlights being abnormal dreams, nausea, flatulence, snoring, …