What Parents Really Think About People Who Can’t Decide If They Want Children
Last Saturday, I was wiping clover pollen off my jeans at a backyard book club, swatting a mosquito that had bitten my ankle, when Lila, the newest member of our group, leaned forward and said it out loud. “I still don’t know if I want kids. We’ve been talking for two years, and I’m still on the fence. Is that crazy?” Lila’s 32, and half the room are parents like me, with kids ranging from toddler to teen. I waited for the usual reactions – the quick “it’s your choice!” platitude, the auntie-style “your clock’s ticking” warning, the “you’ll know when it’s time” line that never actually helps anyone. Instead, Sarah, who has two teen boys and hosts the book club every month, wiped a drip of lemonade off her paperback and said, “It’s not crazy. I used to think it was, but not anymore.”
Sarah went on to say that for the first 10 years after she had her kids, she assumed anyone who waffled was just scared of hard work, or avoiding commitment. Then a few years back, her younger sister got to 34 and still wouldn’t give a straight answer when the family asked. At a Sunday barbecue, Sarah pressed her, and her sister burst out crying and said, “I don’t want to do this half-assed. If I can’t be sure I want to put my life on hold for this, why would I do it?” That stuck with Sarah. She said she got married at 24 and got pregnant 18 months later because that was just what you did, and she wouldn’t change her kids, but she spent the first three years resenting how little time she had for the things she loved. If she’d been honest with herself back then, she would have waited five more years. She’d have had more time to travel, more time to finish her degree, and she wouldn’t have carried that quiet resentment early on.
Mark, another dad at the meeting with a 5-year-old daughter, nodded along. He said he feels the same way. His older sister has been undecided for six years, and he used to bug her about it, until he had his daughter and realized how all-consuming parenting really is. “If she’s not 100% down to rearrange every part of your life for the next 18 plus years, why would I push her?” he said. “I love my kid more than anything, but it’s not for everyone. And it’s not a light switch that just flips on when you hit 30.”
I nodded too. I remembered when I was deciding to have kids, I waffled for three full years. Everyone around me knew what they wanted – my best friend wanted four kids by 30, my cousin said she never wanted any at all. I was stuck in the middle. I liked my job, I liked sleeping in on weekends, I liked being able to take a last-minute road trip. But I also liked the idea of having a kid someday. I got so tired of people asking when I’d decide that I stopped going to most family functions for almost a year. So when Lila said she’s tired of everyone acting like her indecision is a problem, I got it.
What most people outside don’t realize is that a lot of parents who’ve actually lived the day-to-day – the middle-of-the-night fevers, the teenage eye-rolls that feel like a punch, the broken water heater you can’t afford to fix because you’re paying for soccer camp and insulin – don’t judge indecision the way the stereotype says we do. We know how big this decision is, so it makes sense that people don’t rush into it.
I’ve learned a few small, concrete things that work when you’re a parent talking to someone who’s undecided. First, don’t default to the generic unhelpful lines. Instead of “you’ll change your mind,” try “what’s the part that’s making you unsure right now?” It’s just a small shift, but it opens the conversation up instead of shutting it down. Instead of “your clock is ticking,” just listen. Most people already know the statistics; they don’t need you to remind them. If you’re a parent of an undecided adult kid, stop bringing it up every time you see them. Last Christmas, my cousin Mia was in that spot, and my aunt asked her about babies every single dinner, so Mia left after dinner the first day and didn’t come back the rest of the week. I talked to my aunt after, and she said she just wanted Mia to be happy, but she thought pushing would help her decide. I told her to just ask about Mia’s pottery classes, the thing she’s obsessed with right now, and not mention kids at all the next time they saw each other. She did it, and Mia came to Easter this year, and stayed the whole weekend. It’s a tiny change, but it made a huge difference.
I’ve heard a few parents say indecision is selfish, but most of the parents I talk to don’t think that. We think it’s more selfish to have a kid just because everyone expects you to, than it is to take your time and make sure you’re ready. I know a couple who decided after 10 years of being undecided that they don’t want kids, and they’re happier than a lot of parents I know. I know another couple that decided after 7 years on the fence that they did want kids, and they’re great parents. There’s no wrong timeline here.
When we left book club that night, Lila hugged me on the way out and said that was the first time she’d talked about being undecided to a group of parents and no one tried to pressure her one way or the other. I walked home, and let myself in the front door. My 10 year old was still curled up on the couch playing Minecraft, sticky blue popsicle juice dried onto the TV remote, the popcorn bowl half full on the coffee table. I cleaned it up while he finished his game, and I thought about how my mind changed about this whole thing over the years. Ten years ago, I would have said anyone who can’t decide just needs to pick a side. Now I think being willing to sit with the uncertainty is one of the most responsible things you can do. It’s not crazy. It’s just being honest about how big this choice really is.
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