I Wanted A Baby My Whole Life — And Now I Regret Having One

Having a baby became such an obsession that I couldn’t see anything else.

By Lola Stark — Written on May 17, 2022

Photo: Getty Images

It wasn’t long after I got married that baby fever kicked in. I was 26 years old and a lot of my high school friends already had toddlers. In my mind, I was way behind.

Every movie or show I grew up watching instilled in me the family values that would become the motivation for how to manage my life: Marriage, babies, house, drinking tea on my wrap-around porch in the summer while watching my kids play in the front yard.

I begged my husband for a baby. I cried, I screamed, and I even left the house one time in a fit of rage after punching a wall (thus ruining our security deposit on that apartment).

He felt we just weren’t ready financially to bring another life into this world.

In retrospect, he was right. But having a baby became such an obsession that I couldn’t see anything else but that.

At the time, we lived in an attic apartment; the kitchen shared space with the living room and our bedroom had a very deep roof slope that caused many a bruise when waking up in a panic. As my husband pointed out, our home was no place to start a family.

When we finally moved into an apartment that was spacious, albeit a one-bedroom, my husband finally gave in and said we could try for a baby. Before he finished his sentence, I was already downloading ovulation apps on my phone and looking at baby registries.

But if I’m being honest, all this need for a baby was entirely superficial. I wanted to post pictures on Facebook. I wanted to dress up my child in gorgeous dresses or fancy little infant suits. Why? Because that’s what I felt was the next step in the Game of Life. I felt an insatiable drive to be normal and follow in everyone else’s footsteps. I never took into account that maybe having a baby wasn’t for me.

Month after month, my period showed up and I started to believe maybe it wasn’t meant to be. I began to think not having a child wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, and that’s when we stopped trying. We had unprotected sex because we felt that I couldn’t get pregnant.

And then I did.

My son is now almost six years old, and let me go ahead and get the clichés out of the way: I love him more than life. I would die for him. He’s my world.

OK, now that that’s out of the way, let’s get down to the nitty-gritty: My life is crap. I had always been a selfish person (forcing a child on my husband ranks pretty high on the selfish scale, no?) and I love sleep. I love going to the city and seeing Broadway shows. I love spending money on myself. I love writing, whenever I want, without having to make sure my son is happily playing with his trucks first. And did I mention I love sleep?

I wouldn’t EVER admit this to anyone in my real life, but I regret having my son. I’ve lost years of my life to a child that I wanted for all the wrong reasons.

There are people who will say that every child is a blessing, and that’s great if you believe in God. But I don’t. I believe that I really f*cked up my life by being a follower and wanting to fit in with what I thought was the right way to do life.

And that’s no one’s fault but my own.