On Fatherhood

As I approach a full year of fatherhood, some thoughts have crossed my mind regarding a task (and I use that term intentionally) which has been the most rewarding, difficult, and important work I’ve done so far in my life.  I wanted to share them here, in random order:

• One of the more interesting articles I’ve read over the past year was written by a pediatrician and relates to the “fit” between parents and their babies.  Sometimes, parents get decidedly unlucky with the children they have (e.g., there are very active babies born to older, more sedentary parents who would be much easier to deal with if their parents were 27-year-old endurance athletes).  In this sense, we got really lucky with our little Samantha.  She’s active, curious, and can be a handful, but at least we’re almost always well-rested (unless sick, from the age of four months she’s been out like a light from 7:30 pm until at least 6 am each night – my wife and I have averaged at least eight hours sleep each night for the past year).  I don’t know how parents manage when their babies don’t sleep through the night, and one of the reasons we’re almost certain we’re never having another child is we don’t want to roll the genetic dice a second time.

• I observe other moms and dads from afar and I wonder how it’s possible to be such an all-encompassing “total parent”.  I’m not wired that way; I’m too much of a generalist.  I need to have my work, my interests, and my activities outside the realm of parenthood.  I’m a little envious of those who can throw themselves so fully into the life of a parent (but I’m also glad I’m approaching it this way, as I elaborate upon later). 

• That said, no matter how hard I try not to let parenthood change me, it changed me.  I’ve become more emotional, and more in tune with my emotions than I’ve ever been since my teenage years.  It’s impossible to ignore tragedies surrounding other people’s kids (even if you don’t like other people’s kids theoretically) when you can imagine something like it happening to your own child.  You read about an old person dying of cancer and – especially if they’ve led a long, happy, and productive life – it’s not necessarily sad.  But think of a child dying of the same disease, and it’s awful.  My sense of humor has changed, as well.  I used to love dead baby jokes, but they become less funny when you have a child of your own.

• The worst part of the last year were the (very few) moments where I didn’t know I was hurting my child.  Like for instance, Samantha was losing weight right after she was born, so we had to supplement her diet with some formula so she could gain it back.  I remember feeding her from her bottle in the middle of the night, when she couldn’t have been more than a week old.  Being a first-time parent without any knowledge of how bottles actually work, I was unintentionally choking the poor little newborn – she was getting milk faster than she could swallow.  Now, my daughter is totally fine and healthy today, so I clearly didn’t mess her up too bad that night.  Still, it hurts so much to think about that moment.  Over the last few weeks I’ve shared this story with other dad friends, and it turns out they all have similar moments of guilt (e.g., feeling like they let their child fall, etc.).  I think it’s just a part of the awesomeness of the commitment; it’s impossible to get it right 100% of the time, but it doesn’t mean it can’t make you feel awful when you get it wrong.

• I’ve talked about travel before.  There was a roughly four-month span in the middle of this past year where I was miserable about the idea that I’d never be able to travel internationally again.  I’m better about this now – a big help was when I decided to set my DVR to record all episodes of “Rick Steves’ Europe”, so whenever I feel that sense of wanderlust, I just pop an episode in and travel vicariously for 30 minutes.  So that’s great, but it’s not what I want to talk about here.  I didn’t realize this until I became a parent, but travel’s a loaded topic of conversation among parents.  On one hand, you have parents who never liked to travel in the first place, and couldn’t imagine going on a couple’s vacation without their kid (or sometimes even with them!).  On the other, you have people who love to travel and don’t plan to stop traveling – either with or without their kid.  There’s nothing wrong with either approach, but it’s interesting the extent to which parents judge other parents for having different attitudes toward travel.  As someone who definitely wants to travel the world, and realizes it doesn’t make sense to do so with a small child (though I can’t wait to take a teenaged Samantha around Europe), other parents do tend to judge us.  I think it is part of the “total parent” attitude I mentioned earlier.  Whether I’m actively parenting Samantha 90% or 99.9% of the time, it doesn’t make a difference; she’s already one of the top 0.1% children in the world in terms of how lucky she is.  She’ll be fine.

• Children’s books, for the most part, are awesome.  One of the unexpected pleasures of being a parent has been the experience of reading to Sam.  By now, she has clearly defined favorites, and interacts with them to an extent where you know she knows what’s coming next.  But this post is about me, damnit, and I enjoy them, too.  The best ones are lighthearted, quirky, and/or sarcastic to the point where they’re pretty much designed for parents (see: “Go the F**k to Sleep,” “All My Friends Are Dead,” etc.).  This isn’t to say there aren’t bad ones – some of the older ones in particular tend to be overly sad, which is not cool.  I remember reading one in particular about how the mother and her child were off to some kind of museum but they had no money for the bus?  It was weird.  What do kids (or parents) get from this?  I took the existential bullet of growing up broke so my child didn’t have to.  I’m not reading that shit to her.

Though parenthood changes things, it’s not been the case that parenthood has tilted my world completely off its axis.  We’re lucky to have willing grandparents around, so date night still happens.  Hanging out with friends still happens.  Travel, eventually, soon, will happen again.  Parenthood makes things more complicated, but it also puts life in the proper perspective.  Bad days at work don’t bother me as much as they used to, and nothing beats coming home to a smile and laughter from my child.  I would totally recommend parenthood to a friend.

A Dad’s Perspective on Having (Only) One Child

Those of you who’ve read my writing, especially recently, know the ambivalence I felt toward becoming a father.  I have always steered toward brutal, cold honesty in answering the prying questions that people (sometimes people I don’t even know that well) have asked me, and through years of not wanting any children at all, I’m experienced (to the point of masochistically seeking the argument) in handling questions related to my desire to never have any kids.  But now that my daughter has been around for several months, and is clearly a happy and healthy little Muppet, the annoying questions have started to creep up again – specifically relating to when we’ll be having ANOTHER child.  When will I ever satisfy you people?! 

The answer to this question is, never.  I mean, don’t get me wrong, biologically my wife and I might have another kid, but I’ll put it out there right now that said child would be a goddamned mistake.  We’d cry, and not tears of joy, if we found out we were having another kid.  We’re using every possible form of birth control right now, short of a vasectomy (which is imminent) – it’s not even funny how badly we don’t want another child.

When I mention our only child path to other people, usually in response to a question like “So when are you thinking of having the next one?”, they look at me like I have six heads and wonder what kind of an awful parent I must be.  (One time, I was actually told by someone that I must not be a good parent.  I wish ass cancer upon that person.)

I find there’s a generational difference here, where typically (but certainly not entirely) the strongest expectation of having multiple children is held by older individuals.  The data seems to indicate this is a function of changing societal norms; from 1991 to 2011, according to Census data, the percentage of families with only one child has doubled from 10 to 20 percent of families with children. 

Anecdotally, most of the adults I know who grew up without siblings did so because of a divorce among their parents.  So it’s reasonable to assume that, especially for older folks, the perception of only-child families is they are a sign of a weak or insecure marriage that is about to end.  This appears to no longer be the case, and this is definitely not the case for my wife and I.  Don’t get me wrong, if one of us woke up tomorrow and told the other that we wanted like three more kids, we’d definitely end up getting divorced over it.  But assuming the status quo, our marriage is perfectly strong, even with the occasional torment that is having a child in their first year of life.  I’m fortunate to have a partner who shares my desire for a small-government, libertarian view of the family future.

If you Google “having one child,” there are lots of helpful results that pop up in the first few pages.  Many of them do a representatively good job of listing the pragmatic, social, economic, and even environmental benefits of having only one child.  They’re also all (justifiably) a bit defensive in their tone, as if the authors were all writing their posts in rebuttal to dozens of silent critics.

In this strange world we live in, having two or three children is considered normal, but having zero, one, or four (or more) is considered, for some reason or another, wacky.  What is it about two or three kids that makes it so ostensibly reasonable?  I suppose there are perceived benefits for the children – someone to lean on, someone to help when the parents get old and die, hopefully friends for life.  But some of the most well-adjusted, successful, and happy people I know never had that – either because they’ve never had strong relationships with their siblings, or because they never had siblings in the first place.  Indeed, scientific research (led by work out of Rutgers University) seems to indicate that only children do not differ from children with siblings in many (if any) meaningful ways.  There’s some weak evidence that only children (and firstborns) tend to be more socially dominant, but even if it’s a real effect, I’d argue that’s a good thing (especially for my daughter, who I hope always speaks up for herself among others).  Anyone who claims having only one child is bad for the child is speaking in the language of pseudoscience.

***

All except one of the top Google results from the query mentioned earlier appear to have been written by female authors.  While the societal pressure mothers must feel in all parenting decisions is probably greater than that felt by dads, I was surprised that there were hardly any male perspectives on this issue.  So I wanted to write a few paragraphs on my thoughts regarding having only one child, why it helps the entire family, and why other people should really shut the hell up about other people’s personal life choices.

For me, and given what I value, having one, and only one, child is awesome.  At the time of this writing, my daughter is between eight and nine months old, and she’s already starting to exert her independence.  Earlier today, she sat up on her own and played with her toys for like thirty minutes straight.  Then when she started fussing, I picked her up and laid her down next to me on the couch - a college basketball game was on, which we watched together.  At the time, I thought to myself, “Man, she’s really acting more like a person these days.  I can’t wait to see the future, and I’m so glad I don’t have to go through the newborn days again.”  (If you asked my wife, who did not like being pregnant one bit, she might tell you the same thing about the human gestational period.)

I am thrilled to have the full human experience of raising a child.  I strive to be as involved in her life, now and forever, as I possibly can be.  I’m fortunate to have a wife at home full-time (for now), and together we work to create a home life for our daughter which is loving, secure, and nurturing.  It’s a fantastic experience, every day is different – but a BIG part of my ability to get through this with sanity intact (because there are trying moments) is knowing that I'm only going through it one time.

Having another child, to me, just feels counter-productive to what I want to do in my life before I die.  I only get one pass at this, and old age comes before you know it.  I’m lucky to have a creative and meaningful career doing work that I love, and even luckier to have the flexibility to travel a ton (both for business and pleasure).  If I were stuck with a young child for the next six years, my travel goals would be postponed at least until my children were old enough to travel with us.  Travel is one of the most important aspects of being alive to me.  I’d rather be dead than unable to see the world, and children (especially in their first few years of life) are, let’s face it, burdensome travel companions at best.  I can’t wait to travel with her when the time is right, but I find it personally irresponsible and undesirable to take a child under the age of, say, ten overseas for a two-week vacation.

And of course, each child carries a price tag – close to $250,000, if you believe the most recent data.  Naturally, having a child is about more than dollars and cents, but I definitely see the economic value in sticking with “only” one child.  I hope my daughter can pick her desired college (within reason) knowing that she won’t be burdened with extreme student loan debt. 

Having one child helps the entire family.  Whenever we have a rough day, whenever I feel like my daughter is being high-maintenance, nothing calms me down more than realizing “This is just a day.  This is the only day you’ll have to go through this.  You’ll never have to go through it again.”  Having a child has, in this one micro-sense, made me slightly more Zen (which is a good thing).  Having two or three of them, I know for a fact, would drive me absolutely batshit bonkers.

***

This is all about me, my family, and what works best for me.  What works best for you is likely completely different, and I wish you only the best along your path.  Why can’t others wish the same for me?  Why the stigma surrounding having one, and only one, child?

The elderly gon’ act elderly, but I’d implore anyone who reads this with an open mind to think twice before judging (at least out loud) the life choices of other people.  Having one child is okay.  Having like seven of them, assuming you can afford the clothes and have the space, is also okay (though I’m not sure we should ever hang out, or talk about the presence/absence of a higher power).  And also, having NO children is totally okay!  In fact, I salute those of you who never want to have any children – we should plan an around-the-world yacht tour for twenty years in the future.  You’re keeping the world a greener place for everyone else.  The last thing the world needs is more people.  Yuck: people.