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Whenever I hear someone say that they don’t think they want to have kids, my heart breaks for them a little bit. I feel sad for them. It’s hard to convey to someone who is on the fence about it, that while it is the hardest, most challenging, selfless, sacrificing, and under-appreciated thing you could do with your life, there is nothing better. Nothing.
My 8-year-old daughter often tells me that she doesn’t think she wants to have kids. She is the oldest of my four beauties and is obviously aware that being “Mommy” is A LOT of work. We have had negotiations that go something like this:
Me: “I think I deserve some grandchildren after all my hard work, don’t you?”
Daughter: “OK, maybe one kid.”
Me: “How about four kids?”
Daughter: “NO WAY! DO I LOOK CRAZY TO YOU?! I WOULD NEVER HAVE FOUR KIDS! THAT’S JUST CRAZY! NEVER!”
And there have been many long days when, after she has observed my tireless efforts and watched me collapse in exhaustion or heard me growl at the child who has just slapped me with the 3,274th juice request of the day, she gently reminds me that “It’s your fault for having four kids”, to which I muster up enough energy to emphatically respond; “What do mean ‘my fault’? I’m the luckiest mommy in the world! There is NOTHING else I would ever dream of doing. Nothing! This is the best!” I have told her many times, that each of their four natural childbirths were the most painful and torturous and wonderfully miraculous days of my life and I would do them all over again a hundred times just to have my children. I don’t know if she is convinced that I love my job, but I know that she knows that I love her.
I think that a lot of men, in particular, have a harder time convincing themselves that they are “ready” for fatherhood. Maybe it’s because they don’t have a uterus pulling on their heart strings in anticipation. I recall one night early in our relationship when the future father of my children and I were out with another couple and one of them asked us if we wanted to have kids. I responded quickly (just to be clear) “yes.” He responded, hesitantly (just to be unclear), “yeah … probably … I think.” He was, obviously, still in the process of convincing himself. The other night (nearly ten years and four kids later), I watched him watch as our two sons played together on the floor. He was in awe. And when he snapped out of it, he said, “I can't imagine what I ever thought i was going to do that would be better than this." Four kids and a beautiful life later, he is convinced.
It is certainly a daunting task, and I can understand those who worry about screwing it up. After all, we have all screwed up, a lot. We are only human, and it is inevitable that we will make mistakes as parents, and screw up our own innocent and helpless offspring who never even asked to be here. The other day, I was talking to a young women who isn’t sure she wants kids. She said she worries about being the kind of parent her father has been. She told me a story about how her father taught her how to break a priest’s nose if one were to ever attempt to touch her inappropriately, and then he would force her to go to confession and sit across from her priest, alone and terrified and plotting her attempts to bust his nose if he got out of line. As a child, she was scared and rightfully resentful that her father would leave her alone with a potentially dangerous man, and as an adult she is understandably faithless and uncertain about the parenting skills she runs the risk of inheriting. And her well-intentioned father was simply trying to cleanse his daughters soul and protect her innocence.
The question is, how badly will we damage our children? Will our undying good intentions win out over our innate human imperfections? Will the obvious fact that I love and adore my children and that my world happily revolves around them, win out over the equally obvious fact that I am only human and sometimes, I get a bit tired and impatient and overwhelmed with trying to be the best mom that I can be? There are no guarantees, and it is scary.
But parenthood is extraordinary. Quite literally, there is nothing like it. You can’t even begin to understand how miraculous, challenging and life-changing it is until you have done it. You cannot prepare yourself for it and you could spend a lifetime waiting to be “ready” to do it.
If you want to know what to expect, expect the unexpected. If you need to feel more prepared first, prepare to be knocked off your feet. It is the hardest job you will ever love.
Daughter: “OK, maybe one kid.”
Me: “How about four kids?”
Daughter: “NO WAY! DO I LOOK CRAZY TO YOU?! I WOULD NEVER HAVE FOUR KIDS! THAT’S JUST CRAZY! NEVER!”
And there have been many long days when, after she has observed my tireless efforts and watched me collapse in exhaustion or heard me growl at the child who has just slapped me with the 3,274th juice request of the day, she gently reminds me that “It’s your fault for having four kids”, to which I muster up enough energy to emphatically respond; “What do mean ‘my fault’? I’m the luckiest mommy in the world! There is NOTHING else I would ever dream of doing. Nothing! This is the best!” I have told her many times, that each of their four natural childbirths were the most painful and torturous and wonderfully miraculous days of my life and I would do them all over again a hundred times just to have my children. I don’t know if she is convinced that I love my job, but I know that she knows that I love her.
I think that a lot of men, in particular, have a harder time convincing themselves that they are “ready” for fatherhood. Maybe it’s because they don’t have a uterus pulling on their heart strings in anticipation. I recall one night early in our relationship when the future father of my children and I were out with another couple and one of them asked us if we wanted to have kids. I responded quickly (just to be clear) “yes.” He responded, hesitantly (just to be unclear), “yeah … probably … I think.” He was, obviously, still in the process of convincing himself. The other night (nearly ten years and four kids later), I watched him watch as our two sons played together on the floor. He was in awe. And when he snapped out of it, he said, “I can't imagine what I ever thought i was going to do that would be better than this." Four kids and a beautiful life later, he is convinced.
It is certainly a daunting task, and I can understand those who worry about screwing it up. After all, we have all screwed up, a lot. We are only human, and it is inevitable that we will make mistakes as parents, and screw up our own innocent and helpless offspring who never even asked to be here. The other day, I was talking to a young women who isn’t sure she wants kids. She said she worries about being the kind of parent her father has been. She told me a story about how her father taught her how to break a priest’s nose if one were to ever attempt to touch her inappropriately, and then he would force her to go to confession and sit across from her priest, alone and terrified and plotting her attempts to bust his nose if he got out of line. As a child, she was scared and rightfully resentful that her father would leave her alone with a potentially dangerous man, and as an adult she is understandably faithless and uncertain about the parenting skills she runs the risk of inheriting. And her well-intentioned father was simply trying to cleanse his daughters soul and protect her innocence.
The question is, how badly will we damage our children? Will our undying good intentions win out over our innate human imperfections? Will the obvious fact that I love and adore my children and that my world happily revolves around them, win out over the equally obvious fact that I am only human and sometimes, I get a bit tired and impatient and overwhelmed with trying to be the best mom that I can be? There are no guarantees, and it is scary.
But parenthood is extraordinary. Quite literally, there is nothing like it. You can’t even begin to understand how miraculous, challenging and life-changing it is until you have done it. You cannot prepare yourself for it and you could spend a lifetime waiting to be “ready” to do it.
If you want to know what to expect, expect the unexpected. If you need to feel more prepared first, prepare to be knocked off your feet. It is the hardest job you will ever love.
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