As A Parent, Here’s What I Really Think About People Who Can’t Decide If They Want Kids
The plastic cooler at our neighborhood BBQ sweated through my jeans last Saturday, and I was just about to get up to grab another bag of salt and vinegar chips when Lila, my neighbor’s 29-year-old cousin who’d driven up from the city, leaned in and asked me quiet enough no one else could hear: “You have two kids. What do you actually think about me not knowing if I want any?”
Five minutes earlier, her great-aunt had cornered her by the grill, tapping her wrist and saying her “biological clock wasn’t going to wait forever” and that she was “wasting her best years” waffling. I’d rolled my eyes and turned back to my conversation, but I’d seen Lila’s jaw tighten. I get that. I was 29 once, and I couldn’t decide if I wanted kids either. Back then, everyone acted like my uncertainty was a flaw. My mom asked if I was secretly infertile and too scared to say it. A family friend told me I was just selfish, putting my career above everything. Even other parents looked at me like I was broken for not having it all figured out on the timeline they’d picked for me.
I told Lila the first thing that popped into my head: I think uncertainty is the most honest place you can be on this topic. Most people act like undecided is just a pit stop on the way to “yes,” that you just need a little push to get where you’re supposed to go. But that’s not true. A lot of people stay undecided for years because they’re taking the decision seriously. It’s not that they’re scared of commitment, or don’t like kids, or have something wrong with them. They’re just weighing the pros and cons, and there’s no clear right answer.
I’ve hashed this out with most of my close parent friends over wine and takeout after our kids are in bed. Most of us feel the same way. The only parents I know who get worked up over undecided people are the ones who never let themselves question their own choice to have kids. They got married at 25, had their first kid at 27, stayed on schedule, and never stopped to ask if that’s actually what they wanted. Someone else’s uncertainty makes them uncomfortable because it forces them to question their own path, so they lash out and call waffling irresponsible.
That doesn’t mean we as parents don’t have a role to play here, though. Over the last few years, I’ve tweaked how I talk to undecided people in my life, and it’s made things easier for both of us. First, I stopped asking people “any plans for kids?” when I catch up with them. That question automatically puts people on the spot, like they owe you an answer. Instead, I ask about their new hiking trail, or their promotion, or the plant they posted about on Instagram. If they want to talk about kids, they’ll bring it up.
Second, if someone does tell me they’re undecided, I don’t say “oh you’ll change your mind.” That’s just a rude way to dismiss what they’re actually thinking. I started saying “that makes a lot of sense, it’s not a small decision to make” and that’s it. If they want to keep talking, they will. If they don’t, we can move on. Third, if they ask me what being a parent is actually like, I don’t just do the generic “it’s the best thing I ever did” line that everyone expects. I tell them the truth: I get more unplanned, sticky snuggles than I ever thought I would, and watching my kid learn to ride a bike made me cry harder than any other moment in my life. But I also never get to finish a full cup of hot coffee, I’ve spent thousands of dollars on co-pays for ear infections and broken arms, and some days I sit in my driveway for 10 minutes after dropping the kids off at school just to get 10 minutes of quiet with no one asking me for anything. I tell them if I’d decided I didn’t want kids, I would have had more free time, more money, and a lot less stress, and that would have been a perfectly good life. There’s no wrong answer, just the answer that fits you.
Last month, my 10-year-old daughter came home from health class and plopped down at the kitchen table while I was folding laundry. She said they were talking about growing up, and she doesn’t know if she wants kids when she’s older. She said “what if I don’t even like kids?” I almost said what my mom would have said back when I was her age: “oh you’ll feel different when you’re older.” But I caught myself. Instead, I said “you don’t have to know now. You can change your mind a hundred times, or not change it at all. Whatever you decide is okay with me.” She nodded and went back to eating her apple, and that was that.
I drove home from the BBQ last Saturday with my two kids yelling for ice cream in the backseat, and I thought about Lila. I don’t know what she’ll end up deciding. She might have three kids in five years, or she might never have any, and either way it’s none of my business. What bothers me isn’t that people can’t decide. It’s that we act like uncertainty is a problem that needs fixing, instead of just a normal part of thinking hard about a really big decision. I still mess this up sometimes – I still catch myself prying for an answer when I meet someone new my age with no kids. But I’m trying to get better. Uncertainty doesn’t hurt anyone. It’s the pressure to decide before you’re ready that does.
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