Even if I had oodles of money, I still couldn’t wrap my head around more kids. Yet I can’t help feeling downright envious of these other moms who can pop them out without skipping a beat, focus on their personal needs without remorse, and feel incomplete without more than two. Are they more stable? More maternal?
Then I take a step back. A big step back. And realize that none of them has anywhere near the responsibility that I shoulder. Not one of them has to have five tear-jerking meetings with the principal before their kid starts school. Not one of them camps outside the classroom when there’s a supply teacher or devises emergency action plans for their children’s basic safety. Not one of them combs the aisles on airplanes looking for allergens. Not one of them has had to communicate to their 2-year-old that the peanut butter Barney sings about could kill him.
Not one of them has had to stab their baby’s leg with an EpiPen as he gasps for breath. Not one of their children is anaphylactic. Truth be told, raising an anaphylactic child is like raising 10 non-allergic kids. I would never classify either of my sons as special needs, but they do have them, in spades.
So to all my sisters out there, I tip my hat to you. No matter how many allergic kids you have, you’re not only raising a herd on your own but, for argument’s sake, your social status has apparently just climbed through the moon roof of your new Honda Pilot. But for we allergic families, whose unborn children can have up to 10 times the chance of having anaphylaxis, one is the new brood.