When you stop at one child, the world can be quick to judge – but your internal monologue can be harsher still
It’s strange to not give your own child the things you loved yourself growing up. A loud, suburban house stacked with kids, laughing, punching, squealing for food. Dirt mounds and swing sets and Mr Whippy vans twinkling in the distance.
Having an only child just kind of happened. When we had our daughter, we lived in Paris, where life was so cramped and nuts the thought of adding...
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