Recently, I found myself chatting with a newlywed friend about their future plans. When I asked if they were thinking about kids, I expected a straightforward response. Instead, he hesitated, shifting uncomfortably before exclaiming, “I know, I know, I should have kids because they’re rewarding.” The way he said it made it seem like it was drilled into his brain at the wedding reception, as if I was meant to chime in with a reminder about the joys of parenthood.
But honestly? I’m not about to convince anyone to dive into parenting. I have a 5- and 7-year-old who seem to test my patience every minute of the day. If you’re on the fence about having kids, I say: don’t. You’ll spare the world a lot of frustration—except maybe for therapists who might have fewer clients!
If you do decide to take the plunge into parenthood, prepare for the possibility that it might not feel rewarding in the classic sense. To me, “rewarding” suggests that if you put in hard work and stay dedicated, you’ll eventually feel a sense of accomplishment, like finishing a tough project. Parenting, however, doesn’t quite follow that script.
We’ve all heard how exhausting it is to care for babies; sleepless nights and sore bodies are part of the deal. And while society may shower new parents with sympathy, that support dwindles fast. Once your child hits two, it seems you’re expected to stop using them as a crutch for complaints. Case in point: there’s a dad in my building who complains at our co-op meetings about everything under the sun while referring to his 2-year-old as a newborn. I just want to roll my eyes at him—clearly, he missed the memo that complaining after a certain age is off-limits.
You’re supposed to showcase a framed picture of your little one at work and limit your anecdotes about parenting to one per week, and it better be a funny, self-deprecating tale. No one wants to hear how tough it really is. Can you imagine posting something like this on social media?
“Today my son was a little monster. He punched his sister 25 times, screamed at me on the subway for not letting him play a game on my phone, and then let out a loud fart that had everyone staring at me. What a ride!”
The pressure of molding a tiny human into a well-adjusted adult is immense. I constantly question if I’m doing things right. I see my worries reflected in my kids’ actions, and it makes me second-guess myself constantly.
I do my best to follow parenting advice, such as the “1, 2, 3” method. Instead of shouting, “Stop pulling your brother’s pants down in front of that creepy old man!” I calmly say, “If you want to keep your Barbie, keep your hands to yourself.” By the time I reach “two,” she usually gets the picture and stops.
So, I get a gold star for teaching boundaries and consequences, right? Well, not so fast. I’ll pour myself a glass of wine, but before I fall asleep, I’ll berate myself for possibly raising a daughter who won’t stand up for herself. My son, on the other hand, seems immune to my counting method. I can’t help but wonder if he’ll grow up to be a wild child or a leader.
Ultimately, I have no clue how it all will turn out. My stepmother was a loving parent to both her kids, yet her son ended up in trouble with the law, while her daughter became a successful executive. Tragically, my stepmother passed away in a freak accident. Did she feel that parenting was rewarding?
What I can say about being a parent is that it has pushed me beyond my limits. It’s amplified my capacity for love, compassion, frustration, hope, fear, joy, and empathy. I’m a walking bundle of emotions now, and everything feels so intense.
After my daughter was born, I found myself on a turbulent flight. As the plane dropped and jolted back to safety, I sobbed quietly thinking about my wife holding our baby. The thought of losing it all is terrifying.
Parenting forces me to constantly reflect, asking myself, “Am I doing my best?” Often, the answer is “no,” but that’s okay. I pick myself up and try again. And on rare occasions, I witness beautiful moments that make it all worthwhile. This summer, I watched my son help other kids off swings at Coney Island, and my daughter stood up for him during a soccer game, inviting him to play. Moments like these make me tear up—though I’ll pretend it’s just dust in my eyes.
One might argue those instances define “rewarding.” But does that mean I’m wrong? Is parenting rewarding or not? I guess I can’t say for sure, as the end of this journey is still unwritten.
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Summary
Parenting is a complex journey filled with challenges and moments of joy. While it can stretch your emotional limits and make you question your abilities, it also offers glimpses of beauty that may redefine what “rewarding” means.