Picture the scene: you’re dictating a piece of work as you bath your baby, having just cooked dinner for your middle child while on video call to a friend you’ve neglected recently. During the eating of said dinner, you’re on the phone again organising pick-up for your eldest who is at football training. By the time you’ve ended the call, half the food is on the floor, waiting to be cleaned alongside the mountain of dishes you haven’t managed to get to since breakfast. It’s a typical snapshot in a day for anyone with multiple children – every minute is taken up, every scrap of headspace filled.
I had my third child last year and although my partner and I had discussed it, it was far from meticulously planned. The first year was harder than either of us had expected. There were many bleak nights when we’d cross paths, bleary-eyed on the landing at 3am, between sick children and a crying newborn, muttering ‘Why did we do this again?’
Physically, the relentless childhood illnesses and sleep deprivation definitely takes its toll. Emotionally, you’re spreading yourself thinner and thinner, feeling as though each child is getting less and less attention. Financially, you’re adding more childcare bills on top of the ever-increasing costs of raising a family.
We naively thought we’d be fine with a bigger car and an extra bedroom, but the practical implications go much further than that. Nobody has space for five more guests at their dinner table, so we’ve also become the default hosts for all family occasions and Christmases, adding yet more ‘to-dos’ to our life admin list. Perhaps the biggest impact of all is mentally: there is just so much to juggle.
So why did we do it? We’ve had many moments when we questioned the decision in retrospect, but is that the same as regret? If you were to use the word ‘regret’ in relation to your child, you’d be a monster, right? Especially considering how many people there are without this choice, who could consider this thoughtless and insulting.
The never-ending ‘What if’s’ and the fear of making the wrong decision bears down on many parents I speak to. Kayleigh, 42, says she’s decided to stick at one child for fear of regretting a second in the future. ‘There was so much anxiety about what could go wrong. Pregnancy complications or having a child with an illness I couldn’t manage - I didn’t want to live with that regret.’
Zara, 40, is considering having another child but isn’t sure she can afford it. ‘I was told that if I’m even considering it, I should just go for it now or else I’ll regret it when I’ve missed my chance.’ There’s that old biological ticking time bomb again, back to pile on the unsurmountable pressure.
Annie, 38, recently became a mum of three and finds it hard to describe the result. ‘The highs are higher but the lows are lower,’ she says. Is that exciting or terrifying?
Ironically, given how easy it can be to opt in to having another child, it’s one of the only decisions you can’t reverse. There are, of course, options for parents who genuinely can’t cope, such as adoption or care services. But for parents who can provide a safe and loving home, they could never contemplate such an extreme measure.
Sarah Wheatley, perinatal psychotherapist and founder of Birth and Beyond, says regret can be a difficult emotion to accommodate without feeling shame. ‘Society really struggles with this idea. You have to be careful talking about it because the last thing you need is people responding with judgement.’
She thinks it’s helpful to reframe the idea of regret and instead apply the principles of grief. ‘You might be grieving your old life, a fantasy of your old life or an imagined easy life with your new child,’ says Wheatley. ‘That doesn’t mean you regret having the child.’
Rather than regret then, perhaps I feel self-reproach. I often wonder my partner and I should’ve discussed expanding our family more or spent more time considering the impact another child would have. However, I suspect we would have arrived at the same conclusion regardless. Doesn’t everyone always say you only regret the things you don’t do?
Wheatley says there are ways you can handle these emotions and move forward. ‘It’s about finding ways to get support: either through therapy or finding people who feel similarly to you so you don't feel alone. Be kind to yourself. Acknowledge that you made the best decision with the information you had at the time.’
‘Love is a verb,’ she continues. ‘You can still choose to love your child even if you’re grieving a life you don’t have.’
The grief analogy resonates. I can see the fog clearing with each day that passes and time is most certainly a healer. I’m learning to live with those uncomfortable emotions which arise when parenting becomes difficult and separating them from the positive feelings of love I have for the child. (Who, by the way, is turning out to be an absolute superstar.)
*Names have been changed.