Do you have any siblings? I feel I have answered this question a thousand times. 

No. I don’t have any brothers or sisters. I am the only child in my family because of the One-Child Policy, enacted in China in the late 1970s. My parents happily embraced the policy and felt it was liberating. Ultrasound wasn’t popular at that time, so my parents made a deal. If I were a boy, I would be named after my dad.  If I were a girl, I would be named after my mom instead. So my dad lost, and I officially inherited my mom’s last name. 

I spent my first twelve years with my grandparents because my parents were busy at their work; they could pick me up only on weekends and vacations. My grandpa was a teacher of civil engineering and could speak some Russian and English. He subscribed to children’s literature periodicals for me and had a habit of adding his last name in front of my name on all those books.  My grandma bound her feet and never had a proper profession. 

Believing girls should have basic housekeeping skills. She taught me how to crochet and knit at the same time as I was learning how to use chopsticks. She loved raising all types of animals. We had quails, rabbits, chickens, ducks, and pigeons, just to name a few.  In the summer, students of my grandpa also brought me sparrows and fireflies to be my companions. My grandpa developed a special device to monitor egg growth, so he knew which ones were edible eggs and which ones contained baby chicks already developing. I observed that these babies did not have birth control rules imposed on them, as we did.

When I came to Canada a couple of years ago, I felt envious when people proudly talked about their siblings.  When I was expecting my first child, I had many strange dreams, mostly about my childhood.  I had a craving for something my grandma made for me, and I couldn’t find it anywhere in Toronto.  I knew something was missing. It wasn’t just food I hungered for. 

I feel I lack certain abilities because I was an only child. Without a sister or a brother, I had not developed my ability to speak, to listen or to debate. I couldn’t make myself understood among adults.   I didn’t practise my verbal skills much or channel my emotions properly.  There were many silent moments when I felt rejected. And I had nobody to share that feeling with.  

Being pregnant in this new country, I started to realize that I had numbed my senses and quieted down all those years, like my friends in nature.  Being like them was the easiest way for me to grow up.

I crocheted this special pair of booties and bib exactly as my grandma had taught me during my childhood. It was a special gift to him—my future son.  Having him inside my body awakened my numbed senses and helped me to see my childhood and the meaning of motherhood.  

When I finally saw his little feet inside the incubator after all my anticipation of nine months, I was so grateful to have him in my arms, as my unique product.  He came from me and completed me.  I am grateful to him for helping me patch up my childhood. I feel as if I have been reborn through him.

I wish for my child the right to weave his dreams and create his life freely.