Should You Wait to Get Pregnant Until After a Couple of Vacations? A Parent’s Take
Elena set her coffee down on the picnic table and said, “We have two big trips booked for the spring. We keep wondering: should we wait to get pregnant until after both?” Her husband was nodding slowly, like a man trying to convince himself. My daughter was wiping a granola bar across her knee. My son had found a leaf and was attempting to eat it. It was an ordinary Saturday at the park, but the question hung over the table like an unopened map.
I recognized the question. I had asked it myself years before, when my husband and I were deciding whether to become parents. We had a list of places we wanted to see, a spreadsheet of possible flights, and a vague sense that once a baby arrived, all of it would disappear. So we kept saying “after this trip.” Then we booked another one. Then another. The vacations were wonderful, but they were also a way of postponing a decision we weren’t ready to make.
Elena’s question wasn’t really about travel. It was about whether they were willing to trade the life they knew for a life they couldn’t fully imagine. Travel just happened to be the clearest symbol of that life. It meant spontaneous mornings, long dinners, sleeping in, and carrying nothing but a backpack and a paperback. A baby would change all of that, and the thought was both thrilling and terrifying.
I didn’t tell Elena to cancel her trips. I didn’t tell her to start trying tomorrow, either. Instead, I asked her a question someone should have asked me back then: “If you take both trips, what will you be waiting for next?”
She laughed, but she got it. Because that’s the thing about waiting for vacations before pregnancy—the first one is about celebrating your freedom, and the second one is usually about avoiding the unknown. There will always be another trip you can imagine taking. Another city. Another season. Another reason it’s not quite the right time.
What I wish someone had told me is that a child doesn’t erase your old life. It reshuffles it. The ability to be spontaneous doesn’t vanish; it just gets scheduled around nap times and snack containers. The long dinners become shorter, but they happen. The quiet coffee at 7 a.m. still exists—it just happens while someone asks you for the hundredth time where their blue sock is.
That doesn’t make the question easy to answer. But there are a few concrete things you can do before making it.
If you’re deciding whether to wait for a couple of vacations, try taking one instead of two. The second trip is often less about the destination and more about delaying the decision. Use the first trip to actually notice what you’re doing: Are you soaking in the freedom? Are you bored? Are you looking up “what to expect when pregnant with twins” at 2 a.m. from a hotel balcony? That last one is not a bad sign. It means your mind is already moving forward.
Another practical thing: write down the three things you’re afraid to lose if you have a child. Not “sleep” in general, but something specific. For me, it was the ability to leave the house without packing a bag. For my husband, it was the ability to go to a movie and walk out if it turned out to be terrible. Then, before making any decision, go practice one of those things. Sleep in on a Saturday morning. Spend an entire afternoon doing absolutely nothing at your kitchen table. Take a short trip somewhere you don’t have to plan. Notice what you feel. If you feel relieved, you might need more time. If you feel restless despite the freedom, you’re probably ready to move forward.
When we finally did have our first child, we didn’t take a big vacation that year. We took a 45-minute drive to a state park. I packed like we were crossing a border: three changes of clothes, a changing mat, a stroller and a baby carrier because I couldn’t decide which was less wrong, a white noise app, and enough snacks for a small army. We stayed for about three hours. My husband backed the car up to the picnic table so we could turn the engine on if the baby got too hot. It was not a vacation. It felt more like a field exercise.
But my daughter fell asleep on the blanket, and I ate a turkey sandwich in the open air, and I remember thinking: I can do this. Not perfectly, but I can do it.
That’s the part Elena didn’t see yet. When you travel with a child, you’re not just making memories. You’re learning how to be a person who doesn’t have full control over the day. That’s a skill. And it’s also one of the most useful things you can model for a child. They don’t need you to show them how to enjoy a perfect sunset on a beach. They need you to show them what happens when the plan falls apart—when it rains, when the flight is delayed, when the only restaurant open has chicken nuggets and nothing else. They need to see that you can still be okay. That’s what helps them become flexible, patient, and resilient themselves.
If someone asks me now whether they should wait to get pregnant until after a couple of vacations, I don’t have a neat answer. I’ve learned that there’s no perfect time. You can wait for the trips, but you’ll still be tired. You can wait for the money, but you’ll still be unsure. You can wait until your career feels settled, but there will always be another project.
What I would say, if Elena asked me again, is this: take the trips if you want them. But don’t believe that they’re the last thing you’ll ever do. You’ll take different trips later. They’ll be slower, louder, and messier, but they’ll still be yours. And if you choose to wait, wait because you genuinely feel you need more time—not because another beach town seems like a good idea.
I don’t know what Elena decided. She and her husband packed up their toddler’s snacks and headed home, still talking. And I’ve thought about her question a lot since. Because even though I’m the one with kids now, I still catch myself doing the same thing with other decisions. Maybe it’s a lesson that doesn’t go away.
We don’t have to keep postponing our lives until everything feels ready. We can take the trip. We can have the child. We can do both in whatever order makes sense for us. No vacation is ever the real reason. The real reason is usually fear, and the only way through fear is to take a small step forward—even if that step just means admitting you’ll never feel completely ready.
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