I’m not ambivalent about having kids because I’m afraid for their mental health. It’s because I’m afraid for my own

One recent afternoon, I went with a friend to pick up her five-year-old from art class. Our progress walking home was slow. Her daughter wanted to examine every leaf. She wanted to say hello to every stranger. She wanted to be in the shade but not walk in the sun to get there. It took 20 minutes to travel a block, even longer to make the next.

My friend did not get frustrated and neither did I. It felt like a privilege to watch them together. A privilege to see this woman, whom I’d known since we were 23 and making bad life decisions, be a really good mom in her late 30s.