Should I wait to get pregnant after a couple of vacations? A parent’s honest take
The salt was crusting on my shoulders when Lila’s text popped up mid-pina colada at a beach bar in Mexico last spring: Should I wait to get pregnant after the two European and Patagonia trips we booked this year and next? I stared at the screen, my straw halfway to my mouth, and thought back to five years earlier, when I was sitting at my chipped Formica kitchen table with a positive pregnancy test in one hand and a printed confirmation for a two-week cherry blossom trip to Japan in the other. My husband and I had spent three years saving for that trip, skipping new tires for our old sedan, eating pasta for dinner four nights a week, turning down every wedding that required a plane ticket. We’d also always agreed we’d do two big international trips before we started trying for a kid. That positive test threw every plan we had out the window.
Everyone had an opinion. My mom kept saying tripping around a foreign country while pregnant was risky, that we should just cancel and start our family. My cousin, who’d had two miscarriages in her late 20s, told me I was being selfish for even thinking about waiting, that fertility doesn’t wait for anyone. My coworker who’d had three kids said we’d never get another vacation just the two of us anyway, so we should go while we could. I went back and forth for three days, crying into my cereal one morning, feeling guilty for even wanting the trip more than I wanted the baby right then.
Then I ended up doing what I always do when I’m stuck: I pulled out a notebook and made two lists, just like my therapist suggested once for big decisions. One list was all the things I’d regret if we canceled the trip and got pregnant right now. It was mostly small, stupid-sounding stuff: I’d regret losing $3,200 in non-refundable deposits for hotels and the bullet train. I’d regret never getting to wander Tokyo at 10pm eating ramen just because we felt like it, no bedtime to make, no snack to pack. I’d regret that we’d worked so hard for three years for this and never got to go. The other list was what I’d regret if we waited and it didn’t go as planned. It was one line: I’d regret if it takes longer than six months to get pregnant, and I’m 28 now. That was it.
That’s when I realized most people don’t talk about the practical parts of this question, just the extreme sides. So I told Lila what I learned when I made that choice, and what I’ve seen in the five years since. First, actually add up how much canceling will cost you, and how long it will take you to save that money again once you have a kid. For us, 80% of our trip was non-refundable, and after we had our daughter, our monthly expenses jumped by $1,800 just for daycare and health insurance. That’s an extra $21,600 a year we don’t have for big trips. If we’d canceled that Japan trip back then, we wouldn’t have been able to reschedule it for at least four years, and that’s if we skipped a lot of other stuff our kid needed. Second, if you’re worried about fertility, go get actual data instead of panicking from family stories. I told Lila, who’s 32 with no known fertility issues, to ask her OB for a 20-minute checkup and an AMH blood test to check her egg reserve. It was covered by her insurance, and her results were totally normal, so she didn’t have to guess what her chances were. Third, write those regret lists down on paper, not just in your head. When it’s written down, you can see what actually matters to you, not what your mom or your neighbor says should matter.
I ended up waiting. We went to Japan, ate too much cooked sushi, got lost in the cherry blossom groves in Kyoto, slept in until 9am every single day. We got back home, started trying, and I got pregnant three months later. Now our daughter is four, and the only trips we take are weekend drives to visit my parents and a once-a-year day trip to the local zoo. That’s okay, that’s the season we’re in. But I don’t lie awake at night wondering what that trip would have been like, like I would have if we’d canceled.
Lila ended up deciding to keep her trips, and start trying after she gets back from Patagonia next fall. She just posted photos from Portugal last month, her hair windblown, holding a glass of vinho verde on a clifftop, grinning with her partner. I texted her that it looked perfect, and she texted back that she already knows it’s worth it, no matter what happens next.
There’s no perfect answer here. My cousin who’s 35 with endometriosis canceled her trip to Australia a few years back to start trying, and she doesn’t regret it for a second – it took her 18 months to get pregnant, and waiting would have meant she needed IVF she couldn’t afford. Another friend of mine waited for two trips, ended up needing fertility treatment that cost twice as much as her trips did, and she still says she doesn’t regret getting to go before the chaos of babyhood started.
You don’t have to pick between “prioritize fertility at all costs” and “live your best life before kids” the way social media and family chats frame it. You can weigh the actual numbers, check your actual health, and decide what you can live with. No one can predict the future, no matter what choice you make. Right now, Lila’s happy with her choice, I’m happy with mine, and the cousin who canceled is happy with hers. That’s all you can really ask for, when you’re standing at a crossroads between two things you really want.
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