What Do Parents Really Think About People Who Can’t Decide If They Want Kids?
Last Saturday, I was flipping turkey burgers on our rusted backyard grill, grease spotting the faded “World’s Okayest Mom” apron my kids got me for Mother’s Day, when my 32-year-old neighbor Lila sighed and dropped the question she’d been holding all week. She’d just left a family birthday dinner where three different aunts had asked when she’d settle down and have kids, and she still couldn’t give them an answer. She turned to the half-dozen of us parents lounging around the picnic table and said, “I’m serious, what do you all actually think about me still not knowing if I want kids?”
My older boy bolted past with a stolen hot dog, his little brother hot on his heels, and a half-empty can of lemonade toppled off the table, soaking a paper napkin and one of my flip flops. I yelled after them to stop running near the grill, wiped my hand on my jeans, and leaned in to listen.
First up was Dave, a dad of three teen girls who lives two streets over. He crossed his arms and said he used to side with the aunts, honestly. “I figured if you can’t decide by 30, you just don’t want them enough, or you’re being selfish,” he said. Then his little sister spent 10 years undecided, switched jobs, moved across the country, and finally decided to have a kid at 39. “She’s the happiest mom I know, and if she’d decided no, that would’ve been just as good. Who am I to rush her?” He took a sip of beer and shrugged. “Indecision isn’t selfish. Rushing into something this big because other people bug you is the selfish part.”
Mia, who has a 4-year-old and a 1-year-old, nodded. She said she used to think the same thing when she first got married and had kids right away. “I’d look at friends my age who were undecided and think they were just scared of growing up,” she said. “Then I had my second, got really bad postpartum, and spent three months wondering how I’d ever get through the day. I realized if I’d been honest with myself back then, I might have waited longer. Or not had two. What’s wrong with taking time to figure that out? I’d rather someone be undecided than have a kid they don’t actually want.”
I chimed in next. I had my first kid at 26, and I was dead set I wanted a family ever since I was a teenager babysitting for the neighborhood kids. But that doesn’t mean I never think about the other path. “Last month, I spent three straight days driving kids to doctor’s appointments, cleaning up vomit, and arguing about screen time, and I sat in the parking lot of the grocery store eating a candy bar alone and thought, ‘What if I’d decided not to do this?’” I said. “That’s not regret. That’s just being human. Uncertainty doesn’t disappear once you sign up for kids. Why would we judge anyone for feeling it before they decide?”
Now, not everyone around the table agreed. Sue, a grandma of four who was visiting her son for the weekend, said she still thinks most people who drag their feet just end up regretting it later. But even she admitted she’d stopped pestering her own daughter, who’s 34 and undecided. “I got tired of her not coming to dinner because she knew I’d nag her,” she said, laughing. “It’s not my life anyway.”
That’s the part I think a lot of people outside of parenthood miss. Most of us parents I know don’t care that much what other people decide, and we get why being undecided makes sense. We’re the ones paying $1800 a month for daycare, staring at our student loan statements next to our kids’ college savings funds, and seeing the news about wildfires and school shootings. Of course people are hesitant. Of course they want to take time to decide.
The biggest mistake I see other parents make when talking to undecided people is falling into one of two traps: either dismissing their uncertainty by saying “you’ll change your mind” or dumping all our worst parenting stories on them to scare them one way or the other. The fix is simple, actually, and I’ve started doing this with anyone who brings it up to me now. First, don’t lead with the unsolicited take. If someone says they’re undecided, just say “That makes sense, what’s the biggest thing you’re thinking through right now?” instead of jumping in with advice. Second, if they ask what it’s really like, tell the messy middle, not the highlight reel or the horror story. Don’t say it’s the best thing you ever did and everything is perfect, don’t say it’s all stress and you never get a minute to yourself. Just say what’s true: Some days I can’t imagine my life without them, and some days I lock myself in the bathroom for 15 minutes just to drink a warm cup of coffee alone. Third, if you feel yourself getting defensive, remind yourself that their indecision isn’t a judgment on your choice to have kids. You don’t have to convince them it’s great to be okay with your own decision.
By the time we cleaned up the grill, the sun was going down, and the kids were roasting marshmallows for s’mores. Lila helped me stack the plastic plates in the bin, and she said she’d never gotten that many honest answers from a group of parents before. She still doesn’t know what she’s going to decide. That’s okay. I still don’t know what I’d decide if I had to do it over again, most days.
That’s the thing most of us parents have learned: the right decision is the one that works for you, even if it takes you a long time to figure it out.
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