The quandry of having kids

This is an age-old dilemma for any young couple — even if few admit it out loud. You usually fall into one of three categories. First, you love kids. You want them with a conviction so strong it could make any relationship jealous. Second, you’re uncertain. Eighteen years is a long commitment — one that comes with less-than-adequate sleep, money, and time for nearly everything that’s yours. (And you thought committing to a partner for life was the hard part!). And third, you're someone who sees life like that dreamy scene from your favorite comfort movie — the one you’d shoo and elbow people out of the way to watch, least you miss the best part. You want to soak that scene in. Just you, your partner, and no interruptions.  So the question arises - Which basket do i find my heart to be in?

Let me start with what I think of kids. They’re undeniably adorable — not just human babies, but baby animals too. They radiate an innocence most of us smoked, drank, cursed, or fucked away on the confusing path to adulthood. They have such delicate features — those tiny fingers wrapping around one adult finger, their confused expressions as they form their first words on this planet, their clumsy attempts at navigating this world in miniature clothing. Nothing erases worry quite like a baby sock. I bet you, It can make a grown man cry.

But that’s just it. That phase ends. The baby outgrows the sock. The back rides you both loved become physically impossible. Most people fall in love with the idea of babies — not with the complex, independent beings those babies grow into. When you meet a new parent, you're usually meeting their baby too — because they’re beaming with pride, eager to present their tiny creation to the world. But fast forward a few years, and that same enthusiasm fades. The child isn’t as presentable to outsiders once they’re a moody teenager, unless of course they’re a class topper. The kid, too, starts avoiding relatives — wary of comparisons and unsolicited advice. So unless you've raised a child yourself, your understanding is limited to the cuteness of babyhood and the painful speed at which it vanishes.

Why do people even have kids? Sure, there's the biological imperative — the instinct to ensure the continuity of the species. Reproduction is hardwired into us. Some want to extend their legacy, add a branch to the family tree, avoid being "the one where the line ended." So we have hashed out three reasons so far - cuteness, biology and legacy. But I think the real — and more unsettling reason many people have kids is to fulfill dreams they never could. Things they missed out on. Dreams that were crushed by time, circumstance, or their own choices. And so, they try to pass those dreams onto someone else. But that’s a dangerous kind of inheritance. That child begins life already burdened by expectations. Even if parents don’t realize it, they’re steering the ship using their own unresolved ambition — not their child's desires. And in a life so short and dreams so big, how many of us can say we’ve truly lived ours?Most of us only start living once we begin earning, once we start understanding ourselves and what this world offers. And just when we’re beginning to grasp life — we’re told to put it all aside and raise someone else, while our inner child remains unfinished.

And then there's the saddest reason of all: distraction. Some have kids to distract themselves — from a crumbling marriage, a fading love, from the existential weight of their own lives. Everything has an expiry date. Some love lasts like canned food on a shelf — processed to endure. Others are fresh and fleeting, gone too soon. Which is why I believe we should all spend time figuring out the kind of person we truly want to grow old with — and then go out and find them. Not just settle for whoever arrives when someone says “the stars aligned.” If you don’t find a partner you can genuinely love for a lifetime, you end up spending years trying to shove a square peg into a triangle-shaped hole. And when that starts to wear you down, you think — maybe kids will fix things. But even that train has a final stop. Your child grows up, leaves to live their own life. The weekend visits become biweekly, then monthly. Eventually, like autumn — they return, beautiful and cherished, but only once in a long, yearning year. And suddenly, the loneliness you were trying to outrun has caught up with you.

That’s why I always tell people: the real test of love is this — Picture yourself and your partner, in your 60s. No kids around. Just the two of you. Sitting together, watching the sun dip behind a beach or a misty mountain. You doing your thing, she doing hers. Maybe a couple of dogs, a snarky cat, some neighbour kids poking around. If you can see this picture clearly, then that’s your person.

Latch onto her like a stubborn parasite and never let go. Because kids or no kids, that kind of love is what everyone really needs.