WHEN MY WIFE HELD UP A FAINTLY-POSITIVE pregnancy test, I was uneasy. By the sixth one, it was more like sheer terror. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be a father or we weren’t financially or emotionally ready to be parents. Instead it was more the feeling that having a kid meant the death of doing cool shit.
I’d been conditioned to that mindset for years. Nearly the last of our friends and family to have kids, I’ve watched Instagram feeds slowly morph into weekends at pumpkin patches and Disney vacations. That worked for our friends. They seemed perfectly happy and were raising awesome kids, but we knew we were different. We kept postponing having kids because we didn’t think it fit our lifestyle. We were on a beach in Vietnam or trekking in Nepal or snowshoeing to a backcountry yurt in Colorado. And everyone kept saying “better get your traveling done now, because it’s all over someday,” or worse, when my wife got pregnant: “good thing you had all of your fun already.”