December 2019Before I had kids, I was afraid of having kids. Up to that point Ifelt about kids the way the young Augustine felt about livingvirtuously. I'd have been sad to think I'd never have children.But did I want them now? No.If I had kids, I'd become a parent, and parents, as I'd known sinceI was a kid, were uncool. They were dull and responsible and hadno fun. And while it's not surprising that kids would believe that,to be honest I hadn't seen much as an adult to change my mind.Whenever I'd noticed parents with kids, the kids seemed to beterrors, and the parents pathetic harried creatures, even when theyprevailed.When people had babies, I congratulated them enthusiastically,because that seemed to be what one did. But I didn't feel it atall. "Better you than me," I was thinking.Now when people have babies I congratulate them enthusiastically andI mean it. Especially the first one. I feel like they just got the best gift in the world.What changed, of course, is that I had kids. Something I dreadedturned out to be wonderful.Partly, and I won't deny it, this is because of serious chemicalchanges that happened almost instantly when our first child wasborn. It was like someone flipped a switch. I suddenly feltprotective not just toward our child, but toward all children. As I wasdriving my wife and new son home from the hospital, I approached acrosswalk full of pedestrians, and I found myself thinking "I haveto be really careful of all these people. Every one of them issomeone's child!"So to some extent you can't trust me when I say having kids isgreat. To some extent I'm like a religious cultist telling youthat you'll be happy if you join the cult too — but only becausejoining the cult will alter your mind in a way that will make youhappy to be a cult member.But not entirely. There were some thingsabout having kids that I clearly got wrong before I had them.For example, there was a huge amount of selection bias in myobservations of parents and children. Some parents may have noticedthat I wrote "Whenever I'd noticed parents with kids." Of coursethe times I noticed kids were when things were going wrong. I onlynoticed them when they made noise. And where was I when I noticedthem? Ordinarily I never went to places with kids, so the onlytimes I encountered them were in shared bottlenecks like airplanes.Which is not exactly a representative sample. Flying with a toddleris something very few parents enjoy.What I didn't notice, because they tend to be much quieter, wereall the great moments parents had with kids. People don't talk aboutthese much — the magic is hard to put into words, and all otherparents know about them anyway — but one of the great things abouthaving kids is that there are so many times when you feel there isnowhere else you'd rather be, and nothing else you'd rather bedoing. You don't have to be doing anything special. You could justbe going somewhere together, or putting them to bed, or pushingthem on the swings at the park. But you wouldn't trade these momentsfor anything. One doesn't tend to associate kids with peace, butthat's what you feel. You don't need to look anyfurther than where you are right now.Before I had kids, I had moments of this kind of peace, but theywere rarer. With kids it can happen several times a day.My other source of data about kids was my own childhood, and thatwas similarly misleading. I was pretty bad, and was always in troublefor something or other. So it seemed to me that parenthood wasessentially law enforcement. I didn't realize there were good timestoo.I remember my mother telling me once when I was about 30 that she'dreally enjoyed having me and my sister. My god, I thought, thiswoman is a saint. She not only endured all the pain we subjectedher to, but actually enjoyed it? Now I realize she was simply tellingthe truth.She said that one reason she liked having us was that we'd beeninteresting to talk to. That took me by surprise when I had kids.You don't just love them. They become your friends too. They'rereally interesting. And while I admit small children are disastrouslyfond of repetition (anything worth doing once is worth doing fiftytimes) it's often genuinely fun to play with them. That surprisedme too. Playing with a 2 year old was fun when I was 2 and definitelynot fun when I was 6. Why would it become fun again later? But itdoes.There are of course times that are pure drudgery. Or worse still,terror. Having kids is one of those intense types of experiencethat are hard to imagine unless you've had them. But it is not, as Iimplicitly believed before having kids, simply your DNA heading forthe lifeboats.Some of my worries about having kids were right, though. Theydefinitely make you less productive. I know having kids makes somepeople get their act together, but if your act was already together,you're going to have less time to do it in. In particular, you'regoing to have to work to a schedule. Kids have schedules. I'm notsure if it's because that's how kids are, or because it's the onlyway to integrate their lives with adults', but once you have kids,you tend to have to work on their schedule.You will have chunks of time to work. But you can't let work spillpromiscuously through your whole life, like I used to before I hadkids. You're going to have to work at the same time every day,whether inspiration is flowing or not, and there are going to betimes when you have to stop, even if it is.I've been able to adapt to working this way. Work, like love, findsa way. If there are only certain times it can happen, it happensat those times. So while I don't get as much done as before I hadkids, I get enough done.I hate to say this, because being ambitious has always been a partof my identity, but having kids may make one less ambitious. Ithurts to see that sentence written down. I squirm to avoid it. Butif there weren't something real there, why would I squirm? Thefact is, once you have kids, you're probably going to care moreabout them than you do about yourself. And attention is a zero-sumgame. Only one idea at a time can be the top idea in your mind.Once you have kids, it will often be your kids, and that means itwill less often be some project you're working on.I have some hacks for sailing close to this wind. For example, whenI write essays, I think about what I'd want my kids to know. Thatdrives me to get things right. And when I was writing Bel, I toldmy kids that once I finished it I'd take them to Africa. When yousay that sort of thing to a little kid, they treat it as a promise.Which meant I had to finish or I'd be taking away their trip toAfrica. Maybe if I'm really lucky such tricks could put me netahead. But the wind is there, no question.On the other hand, what kind of wimpy ambition do you have if itwon't survive having kids? Do you have so little to spare?And while having kids may be warping my present judgement, it hasn'toverwritten my memory. I remember perfectly well what life was likebefore. Well enough to miss some things a lot, like theability to take off for some other country at a moment's notice.That was so great. Why did I never do that?See what I did there? The fact is, most of the freedom I had beforekids, I never used. I paid for it in loneliness, but I never usedit.I had plenty of happy times before I had kids. But if I count uphappy moments, not just potential happiness but actual happy moments,there are more after kids than before. Now I practically have iton tap, almost any bedtime.People's experiences as parentsvary a lot, and I know I've been lucky. But I think the worries Ihad before having kids must be pretty common, and judging by otherparents' faces when they see their kids, so must the happiness thatkids bring.Note[1] Adults are sophisticated enough to see 2 year olds for thefascinatingly complex characters they are, whereas to most 6 yearolds, 2 year olds are just defective 6 year olds.Thanks to Trevor Blackwell, Jessica Livingston, and Robert Morrisfor reading drafts of this.
