My parents had a baby unexpectedly late in life when I was 18, and it is one of the best things that has ever happened to me. Being so close to an infant as an adult allowed me to experience some of the more mysterious or spiritual aspects of parenthood before actually becoming a parent myself: The feeling that I would die in an instant for this small infant I had only known for a couple of hours. The feeling that I had just received something that had been missing for my whole life. The understanding that really, this is what life is all about.
When I got pregnant, I knew that our parents would be excited to have a grandchild (although they’re not the types to pester about that), but I had no idea how our siblings or our close single friends would feel about our kid, since most of them are either not in a life stage where they interact with kids often or have explicitly said they don’t want to have kids themselves. So it’s been incredibly cool and heartwarming to see our siblings become enthusiastic aunts and uncles who clamor for baby photos in the family group chat and visit us just to spend time with our son. Even my close friends who don’t want to have kids are so happy to be part of my son’s life. It made me realize how much the cultural idea of kids as a burden or an inconvenience had impacted me without my being aware of it. I had pictured the response to us having a kid to be similar to the response a friend or family member might make to us getting really into hiking or Marvel movies - acceptance of a lifestyle choice and willingness to accommodate our new enthusiasm, but with a heavy side helping of bemused tolerance. It’s been a delightful surprise to discover that our family and friends love and delight in our son in a similar way that we do as his parents. He is loved for who he is and his place in an already-existing community of love, without having had to earn it. Understanding this has made me more willing to share the hard parts of parenting with my family and friends and ask for things I need. And I’m not worried about talking about my son too much because they genuinely want to hear about him!
My husband and I are both basically only children. Our children will not have any aunts or uncles. We are China's one child policy writ small, and it is painfully obvious to us why they've had to relax their standards. We feel we have to have more children in part to care for our four parents as they age. I have never spoken to another soul who has realized the dearth of aunts/uncles if they have only children. I've pointed this out a lot... at least two dozen times by now, and the thought has never occurred to anyone, whether they only want one or they want a gaggle.
We are blessed with a larger extended family, so the "cousins" they are growing up alongside are their second cousins. It was my aunt who normalized breastfeeding for me when I was eleven and my cousin was a baby. And now I normalize it for my younger cousins at family holidays, for the ones who won't have littler siblings of their own. I scare my aunts by letting the 7 year old watch my baby alone and saying "you're in charge" of the room (in a house with adults nearby). I want their children to be able to feel responsible and capable of caring for babies so that they feel more equipped than I did when our first was born.
I don't have children, and am unlikely to, and perfectly fine with that. In my biological family I'm one of two children, with two biological uncles and one aunt, all of whom live several states away. I have one biological cousin whom I've never really known.
However, by an unofficial (not legal or anything) adoption into a family at church, I gained nearly two dozen aunts and uncles, and approximately fifty cousins, at one fell swoop. Some of said aunts and uncles are old enough to be my parents, while the youngest are my age; some of the cousins are also my age, and some aren't born yet. I'm good friends with some of the older cousins, but one of the little ones, a seven-year-old girl who loves bugs and creepy-crawlies as much as I do, has become very dear to me, and I've never been in a relationship where I'm anything like the grown-up in charge before. The house is filled to bursting at Thanksgiving (and sometimes people's eardrums too), but you also know that everyone is going to be taken care of, at whatever vulnerable stage they might be. There's a lot to be said for big families, and for being part of big families by adoption too.
Elizabeth Enright said it well: "If cousins are the right kind, they're best of all: kinder than sisters and brothers, and closer than friends." (Gone-Away Lake)
While I very much want to get married and start a family of my own, my friends have been rather quicker at that than I have, with almost all of them getting married while still in college. However, they almost all immediately turned around and made me godfather to their first or second children (and one friend has made me godfather to two), so that at barely 25 I already have 6 godchildren (one of whom is admittedly still in utero). My eldest goddaughter is three, and when I saw her last she wasn't capable of more than a few words. When I see her at Christmas, however, we'll be able to have conversations and interactions that we couldn't before, and the prospect of that fills me with joy. At the same time I'll also be seeing my youngest goddaughter for the first time, and taking part in her Baptism will be another source of joy and blessing all its own. I am honored and blessed that my friends, whom I love above nearly everyone else, are so willing to let me share in their familial life. Even though my state in life is fairly divergent from theirs, I rarely feel like an awkward third wheel, or as though we no longer have anything in common. Instead, I find new bonds and depth of friendship through being entrusted with the spiritual care of their children, as well as the simple delight of being around the children themselves.
This is very true in my experience! Spending time with my goddaughter and her brother (now 3 and 4, respectively) showed me that I did actually want children! On a slightly different note, my boyfriend and I have spent time with his cousin's girls (all about the same age) and watching him interact with those little girls is one of the things that helped me fall in love with him. I can so clearly imagine what a good father he'll be someday. My life would be a lot less rich and lovely without these children in it!
I have this experience playing out in my family right now. Short version - my maternal grandmother had six children, she has six grandchildren, she currently has three great-grandchildren (all of whom are my children), so it's entirely possible that my children will be the second generation where there's no growth in that particular branch of the family tree. I have wonderful relationships with my aunts and uncles and I remember wanting more cousins DESPERATELY as a child; it seemed like everyone I knew had more cousins than I did and I usually had more aunts and uncles than they did! This is in contrast to my husband's maternal grandmother; she had three children, they had two children each (six grandchildren) and those six grandchildren so far now have nine children among them (nine great-grandchildren). I don't want to make this merely a numbers game because I adore both my birth family and the one I married into, but I think there really is some sort of subterranean, nearly intangible but definitely present, difference between families that are growing, or are at least open to growing, and those that are less open to it. Hard to parse, hard to describe, but I think it's there. Sometimes it simply manifests as it blows my mind that my mother is the only grandparent among all her five siblings!
This is maybe a bit nitpicky, but I kind of chafe at presentations of the fertility gap when phrased in terms of "women want more children than they are having," because it ignores fathers and perhaps implicitly depreciates their preferences. It also leaves open two fairly distinct scenarios: one is that women on average want more children than their male partners, and the other is that the average couple mutually wants more children than they are likely to have.
I believe that beyond bringing us happiness and making us feel needed, children bring out something innately human in us which it is wrong to neglect. I notice it strongly, that whenever I haven't had contact with small children for a while, it feels like something vital within me starts to shut down from under-use. I feel less human. Having no children of my own, I rely on this contact, even if sometimes I have to make extra effort for it to happen - also an emotional effort since at times it's hard knowing that in an ideal world these children would be my own. But I believe it is worth the work for the reasons above, and simply for the rich rewards that come from every encounter with a child.
Along the same lines it's so important that those who have children find ways of "sharing" them with others, beyond the boundaries of family. It's triply beneficial, expanding the children's circle of friends, easing the burden on the parents, and bringing a necessary, childlike element into the lives of those who otherwise may be lacking it. For some of us, it hasn't yet been possible to give new cousins to our siblings' children, or grandchildren to our parents - and that's not a matter of choice but of medical obstacles. So the idea of inviting others to share in the life of your family and children is very appealing to me as one of the "others".
I am one of the women who would have loved, and had hoped for more children but whose hopes were curtailed by chronic illness. However, having said that and being on the other end of the labour-intensive childrearing years (young adult children), my ability to mother was greatly enhanced by the availability of my mother in ways that are frankly immeasurable because no one was able to supply the total mental relaxation that she, and my dad, provided when pitching-in with our children. The cousin relationships were also limited -- although still vital -- and so the network of friends and their children became key. I am in touch with many these young adult children separately from their relationships with my own kids and all our lives continue to be enriched by their presence. These child friends, now adults, are part of a made not begotten web of inter-dependent joy and, yes, at times worry for me and my extended community. If you are deeply community-oriented (bred in the bones by my immigrant family) these things arise naturally because you are raised with the skills of creating/seeking community. I do see how often those skills are lacking in our society however. In fact I am looking to move to a place where those skills are more in evidence. Not all places are created the same. Prayers to that end welcome.
When my husband and I were first married, we sublet a basement apartment from dear friends of ours who had an almost 2 year old. Having her around almost every day was a delight - she would bring us our mail just before dinner, follow my husband around as he cooked dinner and I visited with her mother, and was generally thrilled to have the attention of four adults. Then after they moved out, I still watched her younger sister (who was 4 months younger than my son) four mornings a week while my friend worked. It’s part of the reason I’m so much in favor of policies that accommodate and promote childcare pluralism and “family, friend, and neighbor care” (as HHS calls it) - these sustained, communal caregiving relationships are so good for everyone involved.
It's tremendously helpful to grow up with people who are genetically similar to you. Similar health problems and personality traits crop up. I am most similar to my father's side of the family, and I feel at home with my father's siblings in a way I don't with any other group of people on Earth.
My father's family has a distinct personality type, characterized by tremendous stamina and extroversion. It's a great gift to be able to see this personality type across different age groups, and talk with other adults who have raised kids with this personality type. When I tell my mom friends about how badly my oldest needs to play with other kids EVERY day, they don't understand. When I tell my aunts, they are sympathetic - they raised a similar kid, and know how much kids like that need playmates.
My husband's family is quite small, and my other daughter has his personality. But I feel like I am flying blind, because I don't know any kids, or even any women with this personality type!
Obviously, one should not read too much into this. I should not raise my oldest daughter like she's a carbon copy of myself. I love my family members who are not blood relatives. But something is gained when you are surrounded by people who have a similar genotype.
Being around kids is the best thing that ever happened to me! No, I don't have kids of my own, unfortunately. But I have been lucky to do a lot of babysitting and share in the lives of other people's kids. For that I am deeply grateful.
A few points came to mind on reading the comments. One is that there really is something special about a child that is related to you. I sort of dismissed the idea until I finally became a biological aunt--my parents were married for 36 years before becoming grandparents, when the son of their fourth child was born early last year. When I see my nephew, it is uncanny how familiar his mannerisms are! Fleeting impressions from years gone by resurface from who knows which subconscious cranny. Of course he reminds me the most of his dad, from whom he even inherited an idiosyncratic aversion to cucumbers, but he also reminds me of the rest of us. So the so-called "force of the blood" is real. Having said that, I have a similar, if not so deep, response to the kids of my former classmates when I see their parents in them. I know my family inside and out, whereas I only knew my classmates in school and for the occasional sleepover or party--but that is still something.
Having said that, it certainly is possible to forge a close, meaningful relationship with a child who is no relation of yours. This is a lifechanging experience, especially when the bond endures into their adulthood. I have already seen a few such relationships changing in a way that mirrors, to some extent, that of a parent, becoming more of a companionship.
However, I kind of push back on the idea that this "fills the void" of childlessness. Maybe it's just me, or a matter of semantics, but I think that pain will always be there for people who want kids but never get to be a parent. For years, well-meaning mentors counseled me to "fill the void" with care for others, and I expected the pain to subside, but it didn't. In fact, sometimes taking care of kids, or watching them playing in the park, can make the void more painful, even as it the little sweethearts brighten my day! How I see it at this point--ask me again in a few years and I may have another perspective--is that in this way I can at least participate in the cycle of life with all its joys, puzzles and difficulties. Instead of an analgesic--and even less as a cure, as I understood it would be if I only could do it right--it is an exercise in focusing on other things besides the pain. And the reward of "my" current two-year old running towards me with arms outstretched, shouting my name, is enough to make me forget about big black holes for a while! Even when the holes slide back into view, the fulfilling times I experienced, and hopefully the happy times I have given him, still stand as eternally worth it.
As a volunteer in teen and children’s ministry and as a church planter my life has been enriched by other people’s children a million times over. They bring me so much joy, keep me playful and creative, and keep my heart soft. It’s really an honor to be a part of this life together. As a mom of 6 my children have been encouraged and played with by so many loving teens and adults - we have so many cousin/aunt/uncle extras and it’s made a profound impact on the lives of each of my children. I think it helps them feel seen and heard and appreciated in a bigger way than just their father and I could do alone.
My parents had a baby unexpectedly late in life when I was 18, and it is one of the best things that has ever happened to me. Being so close to an infant as an adult allowed me to experience some of the more mysterious or spiritual aspects of parenthood before actually becoming a parent myself: The feeling that I would die in an instant for this small infant I had only known for a couple of hours. The feeling that I had just received something that had been missing for my whole life. The understanding that really, this is what life is all about.
When I got pregnant, I knew that our parents would be excited to have a grandchild (although they’re not the types to pester about that), but I had no idea how our siblings or our close single friends would feel about our kid, since most of them are either not in a life stage where they interact with kids often or have explicitly said they don’t want to have kids themselves. So it’s been incredibly cool and heartwarming to see our siblings become enthusiastic aunts and uncles who clamor for baby photos in the family group chat and visit us just to spend time with our son. Even my close friends who don’t want to have kids are so happy to be part of my son’s life. It made me realize how much the cultural idea of kids as a burden or an inconvenience had impacted me without my being aware of it. I had pictured the response to us having a kid to be similar to the response a friend or family member might make to us getting really into hiking or Marvel movies - acceptance of a lifestyle choice and willingness to accommodate our new enthusiasm, but with a heavy side helping of bemused tolerance. It’s been a delightful surprise to discover that our family and friends love and delight in our son in a similar way that we do as his parents. He is loved for who he is and his place in an already-existing community of love, without having had to earn it. Understanding this has made me more willing to share the hard parts of parenting with my family and friends and ask for things I need. And I’m not worried about talking about my son too much because they genuinely want to hear about him!
My husband and I are both basically only children. Our children will not have any aunts or uncles. We are China's one child policy writ small, and it is painfully obvious to us why they've had to relax their standards. We feel we have to have more children in part to care for our four parents as they age. I have never spoken to another soul who has realized the dearth of aunts/uncles if they have only children. I've pointed this out a lot... at least two dozen times by now, and the thought has never occurred to anyone, whether they only want one or they want a gaggle.
We are blessed with a larger extended family, so the "cousins" they are growing up alongside are their second cousins. It was my aunt who normalized breastfeeding for me when I was eleven and my cousin was a baby. And now I normalize it for my younger cousins at family holidays, for the ones who won't have littler siblings of their own. I scare my aunts by letting the 7 year old watch my baby alone and saying "you're in charge" of the room (in a house with adults nearby). I want their children to be able to feel responsible and capable of caring for babies so that they feel more equipped than I did when our first was born.
I don't have children, and am unlikely to, and perfectly fine with that. In my biological family I'm one of two children, with two biological uncles and one aunt, all of whom live several states away. I have one biological cousin whom I've never really known.
However, by an unofficial (not legal or anything) adoption into a family at church, I gained nearly two dozen aunts and uncles, and approximately fifty cousins, at one fell swoop. Some of said aunts and uncles are old enough to be my parents, while the youngest are my age; some of the cousins are also my age, and some aren't born yet. I'm good friends with some of the older cousins, but one of the little ones, a seven-year-old girl who loves bugs and creepy-crawlies as much as I do, has become very dear to me, and I've never been in a relationship where I'm anything like the grown-up in charge before. The house is filled to bursting at Thanksgiving (and sometimes people's eardrums too), but you also know that everyone is going to be taken care of, at whatever vulnerable stage they might be. There's a lot to be said for big families, and for being part of big families by adoption too.
Elizabeth Enright said it well: "If cousins are the right kind, they're best of all: kinder than sisters and brothers, and closer than friends." (Gone-Away Lake)
While I very much want to get married and start a family of my own, my friends have been rather quicker at that than I have, with almost all of them getting married while still in college. However, they almost all immediately turned around and made me godfather to their first or second children (and one friend has made me godfather to two), so that at barely 25 I already have 6 godchildren (one of whom is admittedly still in utero). My eldest goddaughter is three, and when I saw her last she wasn't capable of more than a few words. When I see her at Christmas, however, we'll be able to have conversations and interactions that we couldn't before, and the prospect of that fills me with joy. At the same time I'll also be seeing my youngest goddaughter for the first time, and taking part in her Baptism will be another source of joy and blessing all its own. I am honored and blessed that my friends, whom I love above nearly everyone else, are so willing to let me share in their familial life. Even though my state in life is fairly divergent from theirs, I rarely feel like an awkward third wheel, or as though we no longer have anything in common. Instead, I find new bonds and depth of friendship through being entrusted with the spiritual care of their children, as well as the simple delight of being around the children themselves.
This is very true in my experience! Spending time with my goddaughter and her brother (now 3 and 4, respectively) showed me that I did actually want children! On a slightly different note, my boyfriend and I have spent time with his cousin's girls (all about the same age) and watching him interact with those little girls is one of the things that helped me fall in love with him. I can so clearly imagine what a good father he'll be someday. My life would be a lot less rich and lovely without these children in it!
I have this experience playing out in my family right now. Short version - my maternal grandmother had six children, she has six grandchildren, she currently has three great-grandchildren (all of whom are my children), so it's entirely possible that my children will be the second generation where there's no growth in that particular branch of the family tree. I have wonderful relationships with my aunts and uncles and I remember wanting more cousins DESPERATELY as a child; it seemed like everyone I knew had more cousins than I did and I usually had more aunts and uncles than they did! This is in contrast to my husband's maternal grandmother; she had three children, they had two children each (six grandchildren) and those six grandchildren so far now have nine children among them (nine great-grandchildren). I don't want to make this merely a numbers game because I adore both my birth family and the one I married into, but I think there really is some sort of subterranean, nearly intangible but definitely present, difference between families that are growing, or are at least open to growing, and those that are less open to it. Hard to parse, hard to describe, but I think it's there. Sometimes it simply manifests as it blows my mind that my mother is the only grandparent among all her five siblings!
This is maybe a bit nitpicky, but I kind of chafe at presentations of the fertility gap when phrased in terms of "women want more children than they are having," because it ignores fathers and perhaps implicitly depreciates their preferences. It also leaves open two fairly distinct scenarios: one is that women on average want more children than their male partners, and the other is that the average couple mutually wants more children than they are likely to have.
I'm from a big extended family and seeing the reduction in aunts and uncles and cousins in concrete numbers like that is absolutely gutting to me. 😭
Coming from a big family, I absolutely agree. The relationship with my aunts/uncles/cousins is priceless.
I believe that beyond bringing us happiness and making us feel needed, children bring out something innately human in us which it is wrong to neglect. I notice it strongly, that whenever I haven't had contact with small children for a while, it feels like something vital within me starts to shut down from under-use. I feel less human. Having no children of my own, I rely on this contact, even if sometimes I have to make extra effort for it to happen - also an emotional effort since at times it's hard knowing that in an ideal world these children would be my own. But I believe it is worth the work for the reasons above, and simply for the rich rewards that come from every encounter with a child.
Along the same lines it's so important that those who have children find ways of "sharing" them with others, beyond the boundaries of family. It's triply beneficial, expanding the children's circle of friends, easing the burden on the parents, and bringing a necessary, childlike element into the lives of those who otherwise may be lacking it. For some of us, it hasn't yet been possible to give new cousins to our siblings' children, or grandchildren to our parents - and that's not a matter of choice but of medical obstacles. So the idea of inviting others to share in the life of your family and children is very appealing to me as one of the "others".
I am one of the women who would have loved, and had hoped for more children but whose hopes were curtailed by chronic illness. However, having said that and being on the other end of the labour-intensive childrearing years (young adult children), my ability to mother was greatly enhanced by the availability of my mother in ways that are frankly immeasurable because no one was able to supply the total mental relaxation that she, and my dad, provided when pitching-in with our children. The cousin relationships were also limited -- although still vital -- and so the network of friends and their children became key. I am in touch with many these young adult children separately from their relationships with my own kids and all our lives continue to be enriched by their presence. These child friends, now adults, are part of a made not begotten web of inter-dependent joy and, yes, at times worry for me and my extended community. If you are deeply community-oriented (bred in the bones by my immigrant family) these things arise naturally because you are raised with the skills of creating/seeking community. I do see how often those skills are lacking in our society however. In fact I am looking to move to a place where those skills are more in evidence. Not all places are created the same. Prayers to that end welcome.
When my husband and I were first married, we sublet a basement apartment from dear friends of ours who had an almost 2 year old. Having her around almost every day was a delight - she would bring us our mail just before dinner, follow my husband around as he cooked dinner and I visited with her mother, and was generally thrilled to have the attention of four adults. Then after they moved out, I still watched her younger sister (who was 4 months younger than my son) four mornings a week while my friend worked. It’s part of the reason I’m so much in favor of policies that accommodate and promote childcare pluralism and “family, friend, and neighbor care” (as HHS calls it) - these sustained, communal caregiving relationships are so good for everyone involved.
It's tremendously helpful to grow up with people who are genetically similar to you. Similar health problems and personality traits crop up. I am most similar to my father's side of the family, and I feel at home with my father's siblings in a way I don't with any other group of people on Earth.
My father's family has a distinct personality type, characterized by tremendous stamina and extroversion. It's a great gift to be able to see this personality type across different age groups, and talk with other adults who have raised kids with this personality type. When I tell my mom friends about how badly my oldest needs to play with other kids EVERY day, they don't understand. When I tell my aunts, they are sympathetic - they raised a similar kid, and know how much kids like that need playmates.
My husband's family is quite small, and my other daughter has his personality. But I feel like I am flying blind, because I don't know any kids, or even any women with this personality type!
Obviously, one should not read too much into this. I should not raise my oldest daughter like she's a carbon copy of myself. I love my family members who are not blood relatives. But something is gained when you are surrounded by people who have a similar genotype.
Being around kids is the best thing that ever happened to me! No, I don't have kids of my own, unfortunately. But I have been lucky to do a lot of babysitting and share in the lives of other people's kids. For that I am deeply grateful.
A few points came to mind on reading the comments. One is that there really is something special about a child that is related to you. I sort of dismissed the idea until I finally became a biological aunt--my parents were married for 36 years before becoming grandparents, when the son of their fourth child was born early last year. When I see my nephew, it is uncanny how familiar his mannerisms are! Fleeting impressions from years gone by resurface from who knows which subconscious cranny. Of course he reminds me the most of his dad, from whom he even inherited an idiosyncratic aversion to cucumbers, but he also reminds me of the rest of us. So the so-called "force of the blood" is real. Having said that, I have a similar, if not so deep, response to the kids of my former classmates when I see their parents in them. I know my family inside and out, whereas I only knew my classmates in school and for the occasional sleepover or party--but that is still something.
Having said that, it certainly is possible to forge a close, meaningful relationship with a child who is no relation of yours. This is a lifechanging experience, especially when the bond endures into their adulthood. I have already seen a few such relationships changing in a way that mirrors, to some extent, that of a parent, becoming more of a companionship.
However, I kind of push back on the idea that this "fills the void" of childlessness. Maybe it's just me, or a matter of semantics, but I think that pain will always be there for people who want kids but never get to be a parent. For years, well-meaning mentors counseled me to "fill the void" with care for others, and I expected the pain to subside, but it didn't. In fact, sometimes taking care of kids, or watching them playing in the park, can make the void more painful, even as it the little sweethearts brighten my day! How I see it at this point--ask me again in a few years and I may have another perspective--is that in this way I can at least participate in the cycle of life with all its joys, puzzles and difficulties. Instead of an analgesic--and even less as a cure, as I understood it would be if I only could do it right--it is an exercise in focusing on other things besides the pain. And the reward of "my" current two-year old running towards me with arms outstretched, shouting my name, is enough to make me forget about big black holes for a while! Even when the holes slide back into view, the fulfilling times I experienced, and hopefully the happy times I have given him, still stand as eternally worth it.
As a volunteer in teen and children’s ministry and as a church planter my life has been enriched by other people’s children a million times over. They bring me so much joy, keep me playful and creative, and keep my heart soft. It’s really an honor to be a part of this life together. As a mom of 6 my children have been encouraged and played with by so many loving teens and adults - we have so many cousin/aunt/uncle extras and it’s made a profound impact on the lives of each of my children. I think it helps them feel seen and heard and appreciated in a bigger way than just their father and I could do alone.