Some People Don't Like Babies

Reflections on growing up with 3 brothers and 11 sisters.

A white envelope was bulging out of the mailbox. I ran up the steps, curious, dodging bikes and rollerblades littering the porch. My older sister reached it first and pulled on the package. Little plastic squares came tumbling out.

"Maaammmmmaaa," I shouted through the front door. "We got something!"

My sister grabbed my shoulder. "Shut up! These are CONDOMS," she hissed. Then, she told me what they were used for.

That was my introduction to safe sex. It was also the first time I learned that not everyone loves having kids around.

My sister stuffed the condoms back in and read the nasty message on the envelope. Someone had scrawled "Stop having kids, fuckers." She threw everything back in the mailbox, and we raced down the street to ride bikes again.

We never told Ma and Pa what we found.

I was 10 years old and could not understand why someone might have something against babies. The whole idea was puzzling. My mother was giving birth every year and a half. Each new child meant another friend. I spent hours every day playing with my siblings. We developed elaborate games. We stayed up late together. We read forbidden books using each other's flashlights. We even had a currency and a bank where all the money was stored. I was the CEO of the bank with unlimited money printing privileges. Life was good.

I remember someone asking me if I'd ever want to be an only child. I told them, "Only if I could take a sister with me." I couldn't fathom the idea of not having my bestest friends around me.

Soon after that summer, a new era of my childhood began: homeschool. My mom was nursing babies, and my dad was working, so I became their teacher. All the kids were stuck together in the basement classroom. No one had any breaks. After teaching all day, I'd make dinner, shower, and put my siblings to bed. Having so many sisters and brothers slowly became a chore.

I grew up and left the house. Bittersweet feelings clouded my heart every time I thought of home. I was happy away, and I missed my sisters. I worked on making new friends, thinking that's where the "real connections" were at. I poured time into relationships, met guys, and fell so hard in love. I thought if I loved others enough, they'd be my new forever.

I felt free. The only people I needed were the ones I chose.

Then I broke up with one guy. Then another. One friend said something nasty. Her words had me asking if the people I was choosing would be able to replace family. I called my little sister and cried over the heartbreak. I was so relieved to get away that I had forgotten my siblings were my original friends. A few months later, another sister moved nearby. We started hanging out every few days. Slowly, my siblings began taking a stronger presence in my life again.

These days, I can't imagine life without the whole mishpacha. We're on the phone every day, we video call, phone call, voice note, and whenever possible, visit each other. My brother's in my living room right now. We're grabbing dinner with my sister who lives an hour away tomorrow. There's always a reason to see each other. And the reason is always that we're siblings, we're friends.

People used to approach my mom and ask her, "Why do you have so many children?" They'd cite population explosion, global warming, and a bunch of other reasons that couldn't matter once we were already born. Like a good Jewish woman, she’d answer the question with a question of her own. "Which kid would you like me to give back to God?"

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