<p>Hey guys,</p>
<h2>I’m writing about what it was like to be an only child. Please tell me if this topic is a bit cliche and give me some ideas to finish this off. And if possible, criticize what i already have finished.</h2>
<p>Throughout my childhood, I’ve always wanted a younger sibling. In general, I loved babies. Their delicate heads softer than any pillow, their perfect giggle that was more than capable of lightening up anyone’s dreary day. Privately mourning had become customary for me whenever a relative or friend welcomed a newborn into their household. Not that I wasn’t happy for them, of course, but I longed to feel the joy of being a brother myself. My mom requested for me to be patient, so then, I remained patient. She explained that God gives some people numerous children, some only one child, and others none. For a considerable amount of time, I kept in mind the couples that were striving to conceive one child. Years had passed for me to realize that I wasn’t going to have a younger sibling. Luckily for me, as the years progressed, I didn’t want one anymore.
My opinion of children then has much changed since my childhood. I considered children as little pests that were to be squashed like ants at sight. Children were my utmost pet peeve. I didn’t get along with children, and children didn’t get along with me was the Axiom of Children and I relations, it seemed. At the time, I held fast to four opinions toward children; they were manipulative, deceptive, stinky, and noisy. Anything bad was the definition of children. (WRITER’S BLOCK)</p>