A friend of mine tells me that I should have children. In fact, everyone tells me I should have children. In particular, everyone who has children always tells everyone else they should have children, often with a slightly maniacal air, like someone trying to convince you of the benefits of a keto diet. I, for my part, do not tell anyone to have children or otherwise. I merely insist on my own right not to do so.
You can’t say I haven’t given it plenty of thought. I’ve agonized about the decision for nearly fifteen years now; one of the few things I miss about being young is being free of the social expectation that I should be having kids. At least one significant romantic relationship of mine broke down in part over the issue. Now when I think about it, I begin to wish that I’d had kids in my early 30s – and then I remember that in my early 30s I was entirely focused on other things. At 25 the same. And at 50, should I make it, I suspect it’ll be similar.
There was always something else I’d rather have been doing than raising a family, and the only difference in midlife that is the end of doing anything at all is a little more in sight if I started the whole process of human-building now.
I’ve always tried to be conscientious about this matter, following the principle of ‘First do no harm’; on several occasions, I didn’t pursue a woman because so she clearly wanted children, and it wouldn’t have been ethical to get involved if I couldn’t deliver on what my interest in her might promise. The way I feel about having kids is a bit like I feel about visiting Dubai; lots of people seem to really enjoy it and, while I would be interested in going for the weekend, I’m not sure I’d want to commit to living there. Especially if the flight tickets were only one-way. Unfortunately, that strong sense that some people have, that they long to bring descendants into the world and make their mark that way, is almost entirely absent from me. It doesn’t exist in any strong measure compared to so many things that I do feel clearly, like that I want a stable life partner, or to have lots of friends, or to travel everywhere and, of course, always, to write.
I think I was hoping at some point that my desire to procreate was just going to suddenly show up, like my mother who woke up one morning at the age of 35 and decided she wanted another baby. My father obliged. Instead I remain as ambivalent on the topic now as ten years ago; in fact, I find it all rather painful. I certainly can’t get behind the idea of being proud of this attitude, of being proudly childfree. I don’t feel proud of not having kids at all; I feel both embarrassed and somewhat defective. I feel guilty too about the fact that I also often feel genuinely happy about my status. In the pandemic in particular, I thanked my lucky stars to just have other adults to deal with. At very most I wish not for kids but, as an old friend said, to be one of those people who wants kids.
For so many people it all seems to come so naturally, welcoming little humans and putting them centre, creating more of our species (current population 7.591 billion). Yet no matter how many people try and convince me of how much better life with kids is - and let us be honest, sometimes such testimony can have an air of overcompensation - opting out still seems like the right decision for me, even if it locks me into a biological dead-end. My guilt is compounded if I ask myself well, if intelligent, salaried graduates from prestigious universities aren’t going to have kids, who is? We do need people to pay for welfare states, and staff the workforce, and care for the elderly. These are all legitimate arguments for keeping birth rates up.
Some people even claim that having kids is the point of life, though by that logic Niger (birthrate 46.6 per 1000k) would be the most admired country in the world. Or we would argue that Samuel Beckett, George Eliot and Leonardo Da Vinci (combined offspring of zero) have had less of an influence on human history than ‘Please Release Me’ singer Engelbert Humperdinck (father of four). It’s a tautological concept, this idea that the point of life is to have kids; the point of life can’t solely be to perpetuate life. No, the point of life is surely to improve the human experience, which means for some – perhaps even for most – trying to bring up good new people. But for me it’s not a natural fit. I sympathize more with Dr Seuss who said that other people could make the kids while he’d entertain them.