My kids don’t make me happy

Spending this past weekend with Jessie, a newish mom, (she’s been at it for a little over a year now, none of which we got to be near her for) was so enlightening. No one truly close to me had gone through pregnancy and motherhood until now. And it was mesmerizing to watch Jessie, this girl I would dig mud pits with for potential robbers, be a mother. She really did exemplify the glory of parenthood. However, when she was finally able to pull herself away from baby, as her husband sweetly took care of the toddler and a research paper, us girls were able to really pick her brain about the past year. And she shared honestly, about the incredible parts, about the really hard parts, about identity, and expectations, about the things you THOUGHT you could ballpark about parenthood.

So it was really interesting to get back on this thing after a nice long break, and find this post. I know that I so often have moments where I could kick myself for things I did or didn’t say. I’ve pretty much mastered the conversation where you drive away spewing perfect knowledge at your windshield. So I can empathize with the author on this one. And how perfectly he says it all.

I’d also like to share a comment that was left on the author’s blog. The comment describes a man interviewing an elderly lady about happiness on TV. Her response was, “My generation was never focused on happy. We were focused on honesty, hard work, ingenuity, etc. But we never thought about if we were happy or not. I suppose we were, but we didn’t chase it all the time.”
There’s something to learn from that.

The Matt Walsh Blog

“Kids won’t make me happy.” I’ve heard that statement, or statements to that effect, thousands of times. Enough that I should, by now, have a response prepared. But when a guy said it to me a few days ago, I fumbled the answer. I failed him.

“I don’t know, man. Don’t get me wrong: I think it’s cool that you’ve got kids and everything. But, personally, I just don’t think kids would make me happy.”

That was his comment to me as we stood out in the cold, him smoking his cigarette, me secondhand smoking his cigarette. Maybe I just wanted to go back inside. Maybe I didn’t feel like having this conversation. Maybe I judged him for his selfishness. Well, I did judge him for his selfishness. I shouldn’t have — it was pretentious and arrogant of me — but I did. Whatever the reason, I offered a nonsense response…

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