Reflections on whether I should have kids
I've recently been experiencing the phenomenon of, 'baby fever', after some enlightening encounters with Sarah and her daughter Emma. At a Christmas party, I watched, captivated, as Emma attempted to crack an imaginary egg on the piano. What struck me most was Sarah's parenting approach - she'd thoughtfully explain cause and effect when things didn't go as Emma expected.
This gentle teaching style became even more apparent during our trip to the Kelvingrove Art Museum. When Emma accidentally collided with another child, Sarah navigated the moment with grace: "It's okay - that wasn't very nice, but they likely didn't see where they're going." Her observations onhaving a child has stuck with me: "I'm surprised how much kids know, and how your own emotional regulation will match theirs."
Until recently, my only real window into parenting was my own childhood - and I was a handful. I'd cry over everything, sulk in corners when things didn't go my way, and actively avoid social interaction. This led me to assume all children were just miniature chaos machines with attachment issues.
At university, this perspective found intellectual backing in anti-natalist philosophy and climate activists who viewed having children as environmentally irresponsible. Their arguments resonated with my existing skepticism. I couldn't fathom why anyone would willingly sacrifice their freedom to raise a conscious being who spends their early years soiling themselves.
But something about watching Sarah guide Emma through understanding the world - without overreacting to every little thing - seems wonderful. My own neuroticism has decreased significantly since childhood (the anxiety, the anger), and I now feel more equipped to help a child develop stable emotions. What excites me most is the prospect of helping a child question and understand the world, becoming whoever they want to be.
Maybe this sounds idealistic. I probably won't be contemplating the beauty of discovery while changing diapers. But this possibility of nurturing curiosity and understanding has become what draws me toward parenthood. My values can be a foundation, but they'll build something entirely their own in the world.
There are simpler joys I now look forward to - watching a child summit their first mountain, play instruments, build things. Sharing hugs, dances, and stories together. These possibilities excite me in a way they never did before, perhaps because my own emotional capacity has expanded so much. I've grown to love hugs. A group of people playing music together can bring me to tears now. After years of meditation and some recreational 'exploration' at university, I find myself deeply moved by human connection. I want to create more of that in the world, to embrace it fully.
Of course, concerns still lurk in the back of my mind. My rosy visions assume a healthy child, a stable world, and an absence of catastrophic events. If things went wrong, those anti-natalist questions about bringing a child into this world would resurface with new force. I can't predict how I'd respond to serious challenges - I'd hope to face them with mindful acceptance, but I might spiral into regret.
There's time, though. I'm not yet in a position to have children of my own, and I expect my thoughts on all this will continue to evolve.