The End of Babies

On being over before you begin

A month before the birth of my daughter, the New York Times declared “The End of Babies.” 

Exploring precipitously low birth rates in countries like Denmark, where even the most generous social policies had failed to make parenthood attractive, the author outlined the malaise millennials faced when it came to children: climate change, capitalism, an emphasis on career, education and experiences.

The commentariat was happy to supply more reasons as to why a baby was a bad idea. 

“In the U.S., workforce policies are downright hostile to pregnant mothers, quality day care is prohibitively expensive, schools are poor quality, and supports for women and single parents raising young children are virtually nonexistent beyond their own families,” wrote Katz in Tennessee. “We've done everything possible to make pregnancy, childbirth and raising children a miserable gauntlet. And people are surprised that women are having fewer children?” 

Procreation wasn’t necessary to experience meaningful love or purpose, mused Susan in Portland. In fact, quite the contrary -- it seemed to be a factor in divorce. 

It's noteworthy that among couples who had a live birth, more than 40 percent broke up within 10 years,” she wrote.

For many, it was just plain immoral. 

“We are much better off with less people.  So is the earth.”

Thanks, Hope in Cleveland. (You can’t make this up.)

As an expectant mother doom-scrolling from the couch, I browsed all the arguments to avoid a choice that was already far out of my hands. My choice was, at that moment, using my bladder as a pillow while actively trying to kick her way out via my bellybutton, as opposed to what I’d read up until that point was the traditional exit route. 

And this was all before there was a global pandemic. 

There’s nothing like a global pandemic to confirm your suspicion that you gave birth at the end of the world.

Raised in a missionary family, I’ve long been taught to watch for signs of the End Times. These days, it seems like it’s no longer a niche activity, and instead the one thing on which religious and secular audiences can agree. 

But in the end, there is always a new beginning, isn’t there? 

Like any mother, I want my daughter to have a rich, beautiful life, full of hope for the future. I believe it’s still possible. On some days, this belief is tenuous. On others, transcendent. 

I might never be able to explain this great, impossible, individual choice we’ve made to torpedo our identities, careers, marriages or the planet (take your pick.) But if I can write my way into making sense of it, I’m sure going to try. 

At bedtime, I sing her a song by the bard of the ‘burbs, Billy Joel. 

“Goodnight my angel now it’s time to dream

And dream how wonderful your life will be...

One day we’ll all be gone

But lullabies go on and on.

They never die

That’s how you and I will be.” 

Thanks for following along. I hope you’ll write back.