My only child

It started as soon as we started dating.

"When are you two going to get married?"

Family, friends, strangers all wanted to know when my now-husband/then-new-boyfriend would be ready for that next step. We felt the pressure. We gave in. ... five years later.

So of course, the next question was, "When are you two going to start a family?"

Feeling pinched, we succumbed to societal pressure on that expectation ... yep, five years later.

As soon as we brought our healthy newborn home, the questions rained down upon us. "So when is he getting a little brother or sister?"

Are you freaking kidding me?

Obviously we never gave in to the pressures from others to live our lives on their schedules. We have set our own pace and made our way as we agreed. Just the two of us. And then just the three of us.

And it has remained at three.

That's right: we are the parents of an only child.

An old friend I never see anymore once remarked that, "It's just cruel to only have one child."

Are you freaking kidding me? 

You know what's cruel? A lot of stuff. Stretch marks. Under eye crags. That they made a sequel to the movie Grown Ups. The lack of M&Ms at the bottom of an M&M Blizzard. That Paris Hilton seems classy compared to any one of the Kardashians. That new episodes of The Walking Dead don't come back on until October.

But being the parents to just one child is not one of those things.

Here's the thing: We're not writing The Official Field Guide to the Breeding Habits of Middle Aged Middle Class Mammals and so we don't owe anyone an explanation of our seemingly curious mating patterns. And now that I've gotten old, well, we don't get that question much any more anyway.

"If your parents never had children, chances are you won't either," Dick Cavett, who was being a smartass. Maybe that's why they named him Dick.

Anyway ...

People mean well. I'm being generous there. Because their "good intentions" imply that we are bad parents because we (me) didn't birth a daycare's worth of perpetual playmates for our son. That we are selfish in not adopting children in need. That we are not fulfilling our biblical duty to be fruitful and multiply. That we have denied our child his request for a sibling. (Please note: we do not allow children to dictate the family planning of the grown-ups. Plus, he never asked anyway.) There's a lot of assumption and judgement in there.

Defensive much?

Yes. Yes, I am.

Not only do they question my husband and me, but they ask my kid about it. That. Is. Not. Cool.

"Aren't you sad being an only child?" A woman I had just met asked my son this at a wedding reception recently. I was horrified that he had been put on the spot like that by this nosy stranger.

"Being an only child is awesome," was his not-missing-a-beat answer. "There's nothing sad about it." And that matter-of-factly and convincingly ended the conversation.

Smart one, that boy.

There are those who assume that he has only child syndrome ... you know, "spoiled and bratty." He's not. We are too poor to spoil him and we don't tolerate brattiness. He's articulate and well mannered. If he were an ass, I'd tell you.

He's not. He's cool.

A blogger I follow, Liz Owen, recently blogged about this herself. She is younger than I am and is just starting to field these intrusive questions. Bless her heart.

For us, the quick answer to "Are you going to have more children?" was always no, but it seemed to beg the follow-up, but why? The fact is, we don't need to detail the miscarriage, the high-risk pregnancy, the devastating postpartum depression, the conflicting medical advice, the long-term economic consequences of repeated job losses. Some things are just personal.

What I will say with all sincerity and to anyone who feels utterly compelled to ask is that when we brought that baby home more than 14 years ago, my husband and I both agreed:

This family is complete.