Baby Spreadsheets: A Very American Way To Decide Whether To Have Kids

Is there ever a right time to start a family? Becoming a parent these days, writes Rachel Wiseman in the recent book What Are Children For?, can seem “less like a transition and more like throwing yourself off a cliff.” It is clear that people are waiting longer to hurl themselves into the abyss: Since the 1990s, the birth rate for women in their late 30s and early 40s has steadily increased, while declining for women in their teens and 20s.

In an era that combines reliable contraception with access to almost limitless lifestyle choices, deciding to become a parent can feel surreal, abstract, and difficult to imagine consciously making, especially with limited finances. Why leap into the unknown when you don't have to, especially when there are so many other things to do, and you probably can't afford it anyway?

For some, that first step toward the edge of the parenthood cliff is not couples' therapy or a doctor's office but the neat confines of a spreadsheet. Wrangling an overwhelming amount of information — much of it subjective and particular — into soothing rows and columns feels like second nature for people who regularly use Excel at their jobs.

Two of those people are Reagan, 36, and her husband, 40, who live together in Boston and started their baby spreadsheet to help them decide if children were for them. This was partly a financial question, so building out a Google Sheet with a cash flow and retirement savings model based on various assumptions about their future salary levels was an easy next step. Even though the two of them together earn more than $400,000 a year, they wanted to understand how a potential child would affect the trajectory of their lives: their career flexibility, their ability to save for retirement, their charitable giving, their chance at owning an apartment. “It's kind of an absurd reality of the weird economic conditions we live in that, despite [our salaries], I think we still felt we would have to look at the longer term picture to understand what we could actually afford,” Reagan told me.

They are not alone. The cost of raising a child to age 18 in a middle-class home is over $310,000 in the U.S., according to one estimate, an intimidating sum even for high earners like Reagan and her husband. Those with low incomes may not have the same luxury of creating a savings plan and then tucking away discretionary income in order to be able to, say, take time off after a birth or stay home with a sick child, or pay for the medical care, such as in vitro fertilization, that they might need in order to start their families at all.

These would-be parents acknowledge that using such a bureaucratic tool to plan for something as intimate and incalculable as a possible child might seem reductive, but what they learned from them illuminates how difficult it is to start a family today.

The models weren’t supposed to spit out a yes or no answer — having a child, she said with amusement in her voice, is not a decision that will “lend itself to a pro-con list or a cost-benefit analysis in any real way.” But gaming out what their expenses might look like with one kid, or two, helped them clarify what was important to them. They knew they wanted to stay in their diverse, walkable neighborhood, to be able to take a salary cut if the right opportunity to serve in government arose, and to give away some of their earnings to causes that matter to them. “We don't want to lock ourselves in on fixed costs that will be hard for us to sustain given the values we have and the type of life we want,” she said. “It was about understanding what the trade-offs might be, and to build confidence in my ability to navigate them.”

Electronic spreadsheets for personal computers have been around since 1979, when software engineers Dan Bricklin and Bob Frankston created VisiCalc, presumably not with the baby budget use case in mind. It allowed users to change one cell of a spreadsheet and automatically update the rest, which remains its key feature today. Even if one doesn’t use fancy equations or models, just being able to use the “sum” function to tally up numbers can be illuminating, and more satisfying than the back-of-the-envelope math and pros-and-cons list that came before.

Reagan and her husband did decide to have a child, who is now 2. She knows her baby spreadsheet didn’t capture the biggest unknown about parenthood, the part that matters. “There’s such a speculative component to it,” she said. She had heard from other parents how much they loved their kids, but until she experienced it for herself, she said, “I didn't truly understand how much my heart would grow and how much joy he would bring me and how that would feel.”

Reagan wasn't comfortable sharing the Google Sheet she and her husband used to think through these questions, but I found others who were. While these would-be parents acknowledge that using such a bureaucratic tool to plan for something as intimate and incalculable as their possible child might seem reductive or delusional, what they learned by creating them, and how costs and the process of mapping them influenced the planning of their families, illuminates how difficult it is to start a family today in America, and the gnawing anxiety that haunts even those who would seem to be financially secure.

Jennifer

Financial factors “dictated every choice that we made.”

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Jennifer’s spreadsheets began in 2015, after she and her husband had been married for a year and were ready to have a child. The first spreadsheet priced out day care options near their home in a small university town in Southeast Virginia. “We quickly realized, as many parents do, that with the day care shortage it became more about which day care we were going to be able to get into, rather than the one we could afford,” she said.

Jennifer had been diagnosed with endometriosis in her 20s, so when their first six months of trying were unsuccessful, she was referred to a fertility specialist. The information she got at that first visit overwhelmed her; that, she says, is when her spreadsheets “really took off.” There was a spreadsheet dedicated to the different treatment options, and the costs of things such as medications, co-pays, procedures not covered by insurance, diagnostic treatments, gas and mileage to appointments, and medical supplies like syringes, alcohol wipes, and a medical waste box.

After a lot of testing, she received the common but frustratingly vague diagnosis of “unexplained infertility.” Because they did not have the $20,000-plus on hand for an IVF cycle, their clinic recommended starting with the less expensive but less effective method of intrauterine insemination (IUI). That's when Jennifer started a spreadsheet looking at adoption costs, which they quickly realized was even less financially feasible than fertility treatments. Jennifer and her husband both work at the university, and together, they now earn roughly $115,000 a year. At that time, though, they were earning well under $100,000, and adoption, with its agency fees, adoption fees, house visits, paperwork, and doctor’s appointments, would cost them between $40,000 and $100,000, anywhere from half to all of their annual income.

Seven unsuccessful IUI rounds later, says Jennifer, “Our funds were depleted, we had nothing to show for everything we had been through, and we didn’t know what to do.”

“The financial cost for us to be able to have a child dictated every choice that we made, from when to start trying to conceive, to which clinic to use, which treatments to try, the timing of our treatments, even down to the number of children we have.”

Jennifer started researching charities offering grants for fertility treatments, creating yet another spreadsheet. They applied to Baby Quest, one that doesn’t restrict its grant-making to specific demographic groups, such as members of a certain religion, and welcomes all types of families. The $6,000 grant they received covered half of the IVF procedure; another spreadsheet helped them figure out what budget items they could cut to save up the other $6,000. When, unfortunately, the IVF cycle with Jennifer’s eggs didn’t work, she geared up another spreadsheet to price out the cost of a cycle using a donated embryo: registration costs, website fees for donor-recipient matching programs, and medical costs, including the transfer of the embryo to her uterus.

In the end, none of the matches worked out. “We decided to take a break from it all for a couple of months because we were so emotionally and financially exhausted,” she said.

But after several months, she found herself ready to take a fresh look at donor eggs, which she had originally opposed. She and her husband decided to cut even more from their budgets and Airbnb their home on football weekends to come up with donor agency fees on top of IVF — $17,000 in total. “I realized I wanted a baby and did not care who the biological parent was,” she said. “At the end of the day it would still be my child.” The result was their son, who was born in April 2019.

Although she and her husband hoped for two or three kids, “the cost to do it all again is overwhelming enough that we did not try for another child again, and that’s not counting the mental and physical load,” she said.

“The financial cost for us to be able to have a child dictated every choice that we made, from when to start trying to conceive, to which clinic to use, which treatments to try, the timing of our treatments, even down to the number of children we have,” Jennifer said.

Marissa

An “insurmountable number.”

Emma Chao/Romper; Getty Images

Marissa and her husband have been married for a year, and only recently began thinking about having a child together, following an extended honeymoon during which they traveled and worked remotely from Europe all last summer, which they were able to do because they had moved out of their apartment. Now back in Chicago, where they both work in marketing and have a combined household income of a little less than $10,000 a month, they are starting to envision a future with children.

She and Steve have always had a transparent and open dialogue about their finances, which they’ve essentially merged since getting married. They have a weekly evening meeting, “Wealth Wednesdays,” during which they check in on their finances, sometimes with a bottle of wine. One night, after Steve got up to clear the table, she started putting together a spreadsheet to start their plan to grow their family.

But when Marissa started researching how much it would cost for some of the basics, all she found was blank budget templates, with none of the information she was actually seeking. “You could download or buy these budgets, but all of them were templates, and they didn't actually include numbers,” she said. “I was like, No, I want to know how much it costs me a year to have a kid in 2024, or 2025, or ‘26. What's the line item for formula? What's the line item for a strong contribution to a future education savings account? How much does it actually cost to buy all new maternity clothes?” She was able to find some information herself online, such as the average labor and delivery bill in her area ($30,000). She could identify items she thought she might need, like a baby monitor with a camera that costs $400, and estimate an all-in cost for setting up a nursery ($5,000). She erred on overpricing things, while knowing that she and Steve are resourceful people who enjoy thrifting and finding things on Facebook Marketplace. For other questions, she turned to friends with kids who told her how much they spent on day care in their area (about $2,400 a month for full-time care).

The process of putting everything down in one place was both scary and, strangely, reassuring: It put a destination on a map that had previously been a bit hazy.

They haven’t yet started saving specifically for their future family — they haven’t all of a sudden opened a “Baby Savings Account” yet, she said — but Marissa said the exercise has already affected her behavior. Now when she’s at Target or Marshall’s picking up things she needs, “I’m not going to willy-nilly just grab a few more things and then all of a sudden, my total is $100,” she said.

There’s still a large gap between where they would like to be, now that they have a sense of the numbers, and where they are, savings-wise. The process of putting everything down in one place was both scary and, strangely, reassuring: It put a destination on a map that had previously been a bit hazy. “I'm having a hard time wrapping my mind around the insurmountable number that it will cost to build and have the family and life that we want,” Marissa said. “I recognize that I can't look at it as impossible, because the ROI of building a family isn't more cash – the joy and the love is priceless.” On the other hand, she said, “Seeing it all out there makes it feel tangible versus this sort of untouchable reality.”

She also reminds herself that even though her parents’ generation had some things easier, such as affording a home, people from all kinds of backgrounds can and do have kids. “In those moments when I feel like, Oh my god, are we going to be able to do this? I'm reminded that people are doing this every single day, and family is so important to us.”

Talia

The obstacles are “always financial first.”

*Costs are from 2018-2019 | Emma Chao/Romper; Getty Images

The kid question came up for Talia and her partner the first time they kissed. Her partner is a trans woman, and happened to mention that she had frozen her gametes before starting the gender affirmation process. “I remember being like, OK, this is a viable option, because that's the same thing I want,” she recalled. She had previously dated cis men, who rarely brought up the possibility of kids. “Every guy I had been dating had been so wishy-washy about it,” she said.

Talia and her partner are both creatives with day jobs, living in Oakland. Talia is a novelist and short story writer who leads grant-making at a large nonprofit, and her partner is a photographer who runs a small production company that creates videos for clients. While Talia’s income is consistent, her partner’s is less so, and had almost gone to zero when Covid hit and they were pondering their potential family.

Talia created the spreadsheet in the summer of 2020, estimating costs based on what she could figure out from her health insurer and information she found online. She budgeted $1,500 a month for 30 hours a week of child care, either a nanny share or day care, and $75 for disposable diapers, since most day cares, she learned, won’t accept reusable cloth diapers. One cycle of IUI, using her partner’s banked genetic material, would cost $1,216.40, including bloodwork, doctor’s visits, ovulation predictor kits, and the insemination itself.

“I still feel like I'm so far behind, like it's not going to be enough.”

That was manageable, since Talia, then 38, had been saving up for egg freezing since 2018. Over two years, Talia eventually saved around $15,000 in a “Kids are Awesome” account at Ellevest, an investment platform aimed at women, but by that point, a fertility doctor she saw thought she would need at least two rounds of egg freezing to get a decent haul of eggs, which was financially out of reach. It was the most savings she’d ever had, she said, but at the same time, “I still feel like I'm so far behind, like it's not going to be enough,” she told me. It also wasn’t clear where they would get the $1,875 per month or $22,500 a year, that child care and other expenses would cost, not to mention the estimated additional one-time costs of $1,212, which was a conservative estimate, assuming they’d get a stroller and a crib used from Craigslist.

They decided to ignore the numbers and try anyway, moving ahead on an IUI cycle with a queer-friendly midwife in the fall of 2020. But after an examination in October revealed she had a blocked tube, their options narrowed. Not only did a blocked tube lower their chances of getting pregnant, but it also put Talia at risk for an ectopic pregnancy, a condition that can be life-threatening for the pregnant person. Their best option was IVF, which would have consumed all of Talia’s savings just for one cycle. The figures on the spreadsheet went from daunting to simply unfeasible. Talia created a spreadsheet with lists of fertility charities similar to the ones Jennifer identified, “and then I never looked at it again,” she said.

She spent most of the following weeks crying, mourning their chance to have a family, reflecting on the different challenges they’d faced, from not having enough money to freeze her eggs when she was younger, to the cost of IVF. “Every time it's been a different obstacle, but similar in the sense that it's always financial first,” Talia said.

Anna Louie Sussman is a 2024 Alicia Patterson Fellow and Omidyar Network Reporter in Residence. This story was also supported by the journalism nonprofit the Economic Hardship Reporting Project.

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Help! I'm An Overstimulated Mom Who Is Dreading Halloween

Dear Good Enough Parent,

Halloween is the fishbowl parenting event of the year, really, and I’m already dreading the social dynamics. My kid wants to trick-or-treat with a big group of 7-year-olds, and their parents who will be at varying levels of Having Had a Few Drinks. I am not good in big groups and I just know I’m going to feel stressed and self-conscious, with the “wait, do we have everybody??” and “did we lose so-and-so’s third kid?” I would just so much rather be sitting around a firepit with my two best friends.

Of course I want my kid to enjoy their Halloween more than I want the firepit, but it sucks. And I’m wondering how more social people frame this night to themselves and if there’s anything I can learn from them? Or should I just go on antidepressants?

Well, friend, don’t let me stop you from going on antidepressants if that’s what you need. But I will remind you that there’s nothing pathological about parenting tensions. Parenting is hard. And being an introvert and a parent is, in moments like these, harder.

I am not an introvert. Speaking of pathology, the extent to which I need to be around people to feel content could be considered some kind of medical condition. I want to go to four birthday parties, all in a row, charming the crowd at each one, my kids in tow. The annoying thing is, though, my children don’t always feel this way. When my son wants to sit in the house all day, happy as can be, acting out battles on a giant piece of butcher paper or playing endless Battleship (he knows what he likes), I feel like I might explode any second. I look at the door, at the vast sky outside, at the people walking by, like I am gazing at a bottle of fine whiskey while fondling my AA chip. I do feel the purpose of what it is I am doing when I’m home with my kid. But I do not like doing it. It’s not for me.

I imagine that’s how you must feel tramping around town in a gang, all those parents holding their roadies, dreaming of your solitary couch or that cozy firepit. And you know what, it’s not just your introversion that makes you feel that way. Groups of parents can be a bit strange, can take on the energy of a makeshift friend group heading to their first college party. Together by accident and convenience, fueled by stress, overcompensating. I’ve heard many a brave parent complain about the specific vibes created by a group of parents getting a little too tipsy. Booze can feel celebratory and fast-track friendships, but it can also feel out of place and exacerbate social anxiety. Then, sh*t can get weird. When I asked a friend about her experience at a recent PTA fundraiser party, which is historically laden with alcohol, her response was, “Did you ever see Big Little Lies?” No, thank you. I’ll pass.

We’ve validated your desire to avoid the adults in this scenario, but what about the kids? Your kid wants to go, so you should go. Seems like airtight logic, but it’s not! I don’t presume to know the exact nature of your kid’s personality. They are all different, which is why giving parenting advice is such a fraught undertaking, even with all my long-winded caveats.

Lots of kids want in on the Halloween action. Like us, some of them want to go all night and others are satisfied to get some candy and go home. But, I’m willing to guess that for many 7-year-olds, whatever their parents do on Halloween is of little importance. Maybe when they are 3, or 4, or 5, they want to hold your hand the whole time, or need to run back and give you a hug each time they persevere through a tremendous fear and perhaps their own introvert overwhelm in order to actually knock on a stranger’s door and score that fun-sized Snickers. But, as sad as this might feel, you are likely rapidly fading into the background on nights like this one. It’s about the candy, and the fun, and the friends, and maybe a few grapes peeled to look like eyeballs. It’s not about you.

What if you just asked them, “Is it important to you that I come, or is it just the same if I don’t?”

It can be hard to know exactly when our presence matters to our kids. Mine will sometimes beg me to stay and literally push me away in the span of minutes. What if you just asked them, “Is it important to you that I come, or is it just the same if I don’t?” This could be an opportunity to learn more about what actually feels like special connection for them. It might also help them build their understanding of what fills and drains you (we use the metaphor of a “battery” in my family, but buckets do just as fine).

Maybe they’d actually rather you snuggle with them later that night to watch a Simpsons’ Treehouse of Horror, or make them pumpkin pancakes in the morning, or just be yourself and give them all of the joy and attention they are probably already getting on the daily, more than almost all human children have gotten for the entirety of human existence.

If you have a partner, the conversation can extend there. Can your partner be the one tracking the mass of trick-or-treaters? Can you cook a late dinner, or get started on next year’s taxes, or simply recharge your battery? I bet there’s something they hate that you love, or at least can tolerate, in exchange. One self-identified introvert friend admitted to me that she doesn’t mind Halloween, she just become anxious about doing it “right” and that her nervous system will enter overload. This year, she decided to just let her husband take her kids for the whole mishegoss, walk herself around the block to catch the good part of the vibes, and head home to “hide in the house” (I’d recommend turning that porch light off).

As you can probably guess from my earlier admissions, I love Halloween. I just gobble it up. This year, I’ve spent all of Halloween weekend in bed, recovering from a bike accident. I missed the parade (actually, there were two), the dress-up party with my husband’s friends, the outdoor screening of Ghostbusters, the “Spooky Puppy” contest, which I’ve been dreaming about for a whole year, ever since I laid eyes on Edward Scissorpaws. I would give anything to be out there, soaking all that humanity (or canine-ness) into my pores. I am keenly aware of that skin-crawly feeling of being in the wrong place for you, at the wrong moment. And you know what, I think you deserve better.

So I’ve come up with a great plan for you: Say goodbye to your family, throw on some sweats, and get the firepit going. The memories will be made, with or without you. But you can’t get back your sanity. That, truly, is precious.

The Good Enough Parent is an advice column for parents who are sick of parenting advice. Let Sarah answer your questions about the messy realities of parenting! Send her your questions via this anonymous form or by emailing her at goodenoughparentcolumn@gmail.com.

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It’s Time To Stop Posting Photos Of Each Other’s Kids Without Asking

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There is something surreal about scrolling through Instagram and landing on a photo of your own child that you didn’t post. And if, like me, you’re someone who doesn’t share your child on social media, it’s enough to cause a pit in your stomach. Cue the awkward conversation with yet another friend: “Hey, could you please take down that picture of Cooper, crop him out, or put a sticker over his face?” They always oblige, but it’s also always a little uncomfortable — if I’m asking them not to post my kid’s photo online, what must I think of them for posting theirs, right?

In March 2023, my husband texted me a news article. A teammate from his college days had been arrested and charged with possession of child sexual abuse material. (It only made headlines because the guy had also been a contestant on a popular reality TV show.) My world went silent for a minute when it clicked for me that he followed my husband on Instagram, though he mercifully doesn’t post much anyway. And that was when the reality set in: Being private on Instagram wasn’t enough. Predators can sometimes be people you know, who are already in your circle, the ones who are all green flags. Shaken, my husband and I agreed right then: No more photos of our son on social media.

But just over a year later, what felt to us like a personal decision based on very specific circumstances is starting to feel less and less radical. Parents are deciding to keep their kids’ likenesses offline for all kinds of reasons. For some, it’s about letting their kids have privacy, deciding for themselves how they want to share photos of and details about themselves when they’re older. For my husband and I, and a growing contingent of parents, it’s honestly just about the predators.

For us, the first question was how, or if, we should tell our friends and family about our decision. We decided to text a few loved ones, like my mom and sister who loved to proudly post grandma and auntie photos. Thankfully they were, of course, happy to respect our wishes. When it came to our friends, though, things were more complicated. So many of them post pictures of their own children on social media, that issuing some statement in the group chat felt too holier than thou, when really, we don’t pass any judgment on them about it.

By setting this boundary of not posting him, I can drastically reduce the number of photos AI and child predators have to steal. If that takes a lot of awkward conversations with friends and family, I’m happy to have them.

Earlier this year, The New York Times published a bombshell report about how the profiles of Instamoms who use their kids as content often end up becoming favorites of child predators (and some moms lean into it). Men exchange the photos and links to their profiles on messaging apps. While my profile may be private, I’ve learned the hard way that the people who might screenshot my kid’s photo and send it to a disturbing thread of strangers might already follow me.

Which is how we wound up with our current method: approaching each of our friends one by one, apologetically asking them to take down photos of our kid with their child, swearing we aren’t trying to shame them.

Recent news reports about AI being trained on real kids’ photos makes me wonder if our awkward confrontations with friends will soon be commonplace. Whether or not your profiles are set to private, according to a report from Scripps News, AI can still access them, and learn how to generate fake images of kids using your own child’s likeness. In other words, if a predator requests that AI make sexual images of a child my son’s age or with similar traits, somewhere in that image, will there be a trace of his golden hair or blue eyes? In all likelihood I would never, ever know it happened. Even if I did, what could I do about it? A composite image of hundreds, if not more, children — are they all victims, or none of them, since the child in the end result isn’t actually real? There’s just no law for that yet. And how might a future bully use my son’s photos against him with the help of AI? Ask the parents of the high school girls in New Jersey, or the ones in Spain, whose classmates made nude deepfakes of them to circulate online.

When I take an adorable picture of my son in his Harry the Dirty Dog costume for Book Character Day at school, or get a hilarious video snippet of him saying the dog is “buh-skusting” because all she does is lick her butt, I want nothing more than to show everyone. But when I compare the temporary high of likes and comments next to these kinds of risks, I always come back to the same conclusion. We are opting out.

Of course, anytime I leave the house with my son, I accept the fact that other people can photograph and record him. When he strolls through a pumpkin patch or pets the stingrays at the zoo bumping elbows with all the other children, he’s going to be in the background of those parents’ photos. I will never be able to control how his image is shared 100% of the time, but that’s not really the point.

As his mom, I get to choose how much of him I serve up on a platter. I will never be able to erase his existence from the internet, but by setting this boundary of not posting him, for myself and our loved ones, I can drastically reduce the number of photos AI and child predators have to steal.

If that takes a lot of awkward conversations with friends and family, I’m happy to have them. Just this weekend, our neighborhood had a Halloween block party for kids. A group of my friends, all with kids 4 years and younger, took pictures of our children on the front porch steps in their costumes, all excited because we promised them candy if they stood still and smiled. The next morning, one friend texted me. “Hey, [our mutual friend] mentioned you don’t want pictures of Cooper on socials. Do you mind if I post and cover his face?” I thanked her for checking, and got the warm-and-fuzzies knowing my friends are happy to help me do what I think is best for my kid.

I am grateful to have such thoughtful friends, but it’d be really, really nice if we could stop treating posting photos of each other’s kids like they’re not a big deal. Because I didn’t know who was lurking in my own friends list, and I definitely don’t know who’s hiding in theirs.

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I Breastfed My Daughter For 2 Years As An Act Of Resistance

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Even before I gave birth, I knew that I wanted to exclusively breastfeed my baby. After a surgery to remove fibroids followed by infertility, it felt like my body had been failing me at every turn, and breastfeeding was the least it could do. This was my chance for something to go according to plan — for my body to finally perform the way it was “supposed” to. I’d be damned if I let anything get in my way.

And I didn’t. In the three years since I gave birth, my baby has turned into quite the vivacious toddler, and I’m starting to reexamine the ways I approached breastfeeding. Exactly why was I so stubborn about it? I’m grateful for the experience and proud of what my body accomplished, but if there’s a next time, I want to figure out how to be gentler to myself.

As a Black mom, I certainly felt like I had something to prove. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) reports that rates of breastfeeding “duration and exclusivity” are 10% to 20% lower among Black infants, compared with white infants. This means that Black babies are less likely to breastfeed compared with other racial and ethnic groups.

Ymani Blake, maternal health advocate, doula, and founder of Indigo Road Collective in Chicago, has a few theories as to why.

“Even though I believe the Black maternal health landscape is shifting, Black moms often don’t have the support or resources to breastfeed the way they are anticipating,” she told me. She cites the fact that most parents in the United States are going back to work one to two months after birth as a huge factor deterring breastfeeding, not to mention a detriment to postpartum healing and bonding. “We are also experiencing trauma during pregnancy and birth at alarming rates,” she says, “which makes it difficult to focus on anything other than just surviving the experience. Culturally, I think we are beginning to have more conversations around normalizing breastfeeding because it’s actually something that we’ve always done, despite the narrative that claims we don’t want to.”

I’m not sure where, when or how this narrative that Black women don’t breastfeed began, but I know I was on a mission to prove whomever started it wrong. And to me, breastfeeding was not only a form of resistance but also resilience. I thought of how enslaved Black women were forced to nurse and nurture the children of their enslavers, and held my daughter tight — cherishing the special bond we got to develop while I fed her.

We’re told over and over that breastfeeding has health benefits for babies and nursing parents and I told myself that if “breast was best,” then I had to provide my baby the best at all times and by any means necessary, even at the detriment of my own mental health and well-being. As an anxious person turned anxious mom, I took all of the “shoulds” and “supposed tos” of new parenthood to heart. I remember one late night (or early morning, who’s to say exactly?) when my husband was practically pleading with me to let him give Violet a bottle. I’d been pumping to build up a freezer stash (another “supposed to”), but I was fearful that if she had a bottle, she would reject me and our breastfeeding journey would be over shortly after it began. (Just Google “nipple confusion” to see what I mean.)

And while my dedication to breastfeeding may have partly come from concerns about my baby’s and my health and well-being, it was probably more about not wanting to seem like a Bad Mom. Intellectually, I knew that fed was best, but mentally and emotionally, there was more going on. After all, everyone and their mama (literally) touts “breast is best,” and I feared judgment.

I’m grateful for the experience and proud of what my body accomplished, but if there’s a next time, I want to figure out how to be gentler to myself.

My initial goal was to exclusively breastfeed for six months, per the American Academy of Pediatrics’ recommendation — or at least that’s what I told people. Secretly, I knew I wanted to do it for a full year given all of the benefits breast milk has for babies (and, selfishly, to prove that I could do it). But when the AAP changed its guidance from the recommended one year of breastfeeding to two in the summer of 2022, I settled in for the long haul.

Within a few months of our daughter starting day care, though, that freezer stash I’d spent months building was gone. I thought I could keep pumping the equivalent of what she was consuming on a daily basis, but I was wrong, and we ran through the milk quickly.

I was frantic with my husband, Jeff. “I can set an alarm to pump every two hours overnight. I can power pump the next day and run the additional bottles to the school.”

“Stop,” he said lovingly, holding both of my shoulders and looking me in my eyes. “You’ve done enough.”

I wish I had started weaning then, but once again, my pride was getting in the way. There was also fear: Given our arduous journey to get pregnant, my anxiety convinced me we wouldn’t be able to conceive again. This would probably be my first and last chance at breastfeeding. And even if we were blessed to have another child, there was no guarantee our feeding journey would be the same. I wanted to hold onto this as long as I could.

I felt a lot of dread around what our last feeding session might look like — would I know? Would I be sad later? — but by the time December rolled around, 26 months after Violet was born, we were both done, and to my surprise, there were no tears from either of us. We were ready.

When I asked Ymani Blake whether it was possible to do what I did, but in a more gentle way, she assured me it was: “Even though breastfeeding can be a beautiful journey, that doesn’t mean that you need to sacrifice yourself for it. … Postpartum is a roller coaster ride where you will encounter so much joy and sometimes deep disappointment. No matter where you are or what you decide to do, please be gentle with yourself. You deserve the same support and care that you’re lovingly giving to your child.”

As parents, it can feel natural to put basically everyone and everything above our own needs, but it wasn’t until I became a mom did I understand the importance of putting yourself first — your mental health, your physical health, your emotional health, all of it. If tending to yourself means ending your breastfeeding journey earlier than you expected, that doesn’t make you a bad mom. Quite the contrary, it makes you a damn good mom.

L’Oreal Thompson Payton is a Chicago-based author, award-winning journalist and motivational speaker. Her debut book, Stop Waiting for Perfect: Step Out of Your Comfort Zone and Into Your Power, is a must-read manifesto for high-achievers.

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These Are The Year’s Hottest Toys For Every Kid On Your List

You know that friend who always has the good recommendations for everything from hair stylists to laundry detergent? That’s basically The Toy Insider, but with an expertise in all things kid’s entertainment. Their team of experts has more than 100 years combined experience in the toy biz, and they recently put all that helpful knowledge together to launch their legendary Holiday Gift Guide. The guide features 375 of the very best toys, games, and gifts for kids of every age, and all of their selections come from trusted manufacturers and are sold by retailers you already know and love.

If you’re interested in checking out the full guide, you’ll be able to easily shop by age range. But since Romper editors know that holiday shopping can sometimes feel as easy as climbing Mount Everest in a pair of old flip-flops, we trimmed down the list a bit below to feature 20 top toys of the year.

Keep scrolling to check them out, then prepare to secure your status as the favorite family member.

Be Loved Babies

Unlock the possibilities of imaginative play with these adorable dolls. With baby-soft skin, a matching headband and onesie set, rooted eyelashes, and a soft articulated baby body, Be Loved Babies are perfect for nurturing those mama-in-training instincts.

Be Loved Babies

IMC Toys

Tonka Retro Mighty Dump Truck- Collector’s Edition

Mom win alert! With a design based on the original 1972 edition, this toy truck features double the steel of the original model, meaning it’s equipped to haul everything from backyard pebbles to your toddler's impressive stick collection. Fair warning: You might catch your partner sneaking off to "help" with sandbox construction projects.

Tonka Retro Mighty Dump Truck - Collector's Edition

Basic Fun!

Fisher-Price Rockin’ Record Player

It’s never too early for your tot to start their vinyl collection. This toy lets little musicians place the player’s arm, watch the record spin, and listen to 20 real songs on five doubled-sided play records — all without the risk of your actual records getting scratched.

Fisher-Price Rockin' Record Player

Mattel

Playmates Tales Of The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Roll ‘N Punch Figures

Ideal for the kiddos who have energy for days (we’ve all been there), these 12-inch turtles pack a punch — literally. Roll the turtle on a flat surface to activate the punching action. Plus, as they roll, their torso spins and moves their giant fists from side to side.

Playmates Tales of the Teenage Mutant Nina Turtles Roll 'N Punch Figures

Playmates Toys

Mini Brands Create Garden Capsule

These mini gardens are too cute for the plant mamas raising future green thumbs (or, you know, attempting to). Bonus: Unlike real plants, these won't die if you forget to water them! A win-win.

Mini Brands Create Garden Capsule

Zuru

Pokémon Deluxe Holiday Calendar

Countdown to the holidays Pokémon-style with this 24-day advent calendar that features over fifteen Battle Figures and eight accessories. Gotta catch 'em all, right?

Pokémon Deluxe Holiday Calendar

Jazwares

Despicable Me 4 Ultimate Fart Blaster

Fair warning: This one is for the moms who don't mind a little potty humor. This fart blaster shoots out — you guessed it — fart-scented rings up to six feet away. Don’t worry, it also comes with the option for banana-scented farts.

Despicable Me 4 Ultimate Fart Blaster

Moose Toys

Hex Bots Wall Crawler Gecko

Remember that lizard that had you shrieking at 2 a.m.? This robotic version is way cuter and won't leave you scrambling for the broom. With LED eyes and a remote control, it's like a tiny, house-trained Godzilla.

Hex Bots Wall Crawler Gecko

Spin Master

The Simpsons Living Room Diorama Set

This diorama set recreates iconic Simpsons moments right in your living room. It's like Springfield moved in, minus the nuclear power plant.

The Simpsons Living Room Diorama Set

Jakks Pacific

Plai: Poe The AI Story Bear

A teddy bear that tells bedtime stories? Yes, please! It's like having a built-in babysitter for those nights when you're too tired to think up another dragon tale. This cute teddy safely uses artificial intelligence platforms to create unique stories from ideas that kids or caregivers input into a companion app.

Plai: Poe the AI Story Bear

Skyrocket

Disney Doorables Micro Motion

Imagine Cinderella twirling in her gown or Stitch strumming his ukulele, but pocket-sized and actually moving. These teeny Disney figures are like magic beans for imagination (and sanity-savers during long car rides). With 20 possible characters, it's like collecting pixie dust in capsule form.

Disney Doorables Micro Motion

Just Play

Transformers Power Flip Optimus Prince Orion Pax

This Transformer grows to ten inches and converts between Orion Pax, a Cybertronian Truck, Optimus Prime, and Ultimate Optimus Prime. If only our kids' rooms could transform and clean themselves, right?

Transformers Power Flip Optimus Prime Orion Pax

Hasbro

Koosh Slingshot

Moms, meet your new secret weapon against boredom (and maybe sibling squabbles). This Koosh slingshot is so easy to use that even your "I can't tie my shoes" kindergartner will be a pro in no time. Load, pull, launch — boom, you've got entertainment! Watch those mini Koosh balls soar up to 50 feet and beyond. The best part? The handle doubles as storage when playtime is over.

Koosh Slingshot

Playmonster

Pokémon TCG: Stellar Crown Elite Trainer Box

For the Pokémon trainers in your life, this is like striking gold. Just be prepared to learn a whole new language of Pikachus and Charizards.

Pokémon TCG: Stellar Crown Elite Trainer Box

The Pokémon Co. International

Kanoodle Ultimate Champion

The newest addition to the viral line of puzzle games features 500 new brain-teasers (in both 2D and 3D modes) to keep kids quiet for hours. You might even sneak in a few rounds yourself during naptime.

Kanoodle Ultimate Champion

Educational Insights

MGA’s Miniverse Make It Mini Spa

DIY spa treatments, but oh-so-tiny. Each capsule contains everything kids need to make bath bombs, sugar scrubs, or soap. And the capsule doubles as a bathroom display.

MGA's Miniverse Make It Mini Spa

MGA Entertainment

Stumble Guys Articulated Action Figures Series 2

These little dudes come with exclusive surprise stickers, and what kid doesn’t like stickers? Fan-favorite Stumble Guys characters like Robot Guy, Golden Sensei, and Dusk Dragon are joining this lineup of articulated action figures.

Stumble Guys Articulated Action Figures Series 2

PMI Kids' World

The Legend Of Zelda: Echoes Of Wisdom

It’s up to Zelda to save Hyrule by solving puzzles and using new magical abilities. Girl power in pixelated form? Yes, please!

The Legend of Zelda: Echoes of Wisdom

Nintendo

Fortnite Supply Llama

It's Fortnite meets LEGO. Because why should kids choose between their two obsessions? Once the 691 pieces are assembled, the llama has a moveable head and opening mouth, plus the ability to stash gear inside.

Fortnite Supply Llama

The Lego Group

Siren Blasters

Foam dart blasters that shoot up to 200 feet. Perfect for those days when you need the kids to play outside... like, way outside.

Siren Blasters

NSI International

There you have it: Your ticket to holiday shopping domination. These toys are so fun, you might find yourself "testing" them after bedtime. For even more gifting inspo, check out The Toy Insider's 2024 Holiday Gift Guide and give them a follow on social at @thetoyinsider. Now go forth and conquer that gift list — you've got this!

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Raising Kids Is Hard. It's Harder When You’re Parenting Through Trauma.

J_art/Moment/Getty Images

When news of the Surgeon General’s Advisory on Parental Health and Well-Being hit my feeds in late August, I clicked on Dr. Vivek Murthy’s story in the New York Times with the mix of curiosity and skepticism I typically feel when I open my kids’ report cards. On one hand, I’m always hopeful for some unexpected revelation that might help me connect with them in a new way. On the other, these are my kids we’re talking about. I’m with them all the time, including every evening as they labor through homework, so there should be zero surprises.

I dug into Murthy’s piece like it was the teacher comments section, on a familiar hunt for whatever nuggets of insight he might have to offer. At the same time, as a mom of three young children who finds herself naturally and constantly in touch with all aspects of his thesis, I was doubtful I’d find anything I didn’t already know.

Murthy argues that parents exist in an unsustainable state of overwhelm. That our stressors are big and plentiful, from economic concerns to basic safety, and that this chronic stress threatens the whole ecosystem — parents, kids, and by extension, all of society. To this I thought, respectfully, Duh?

I quickly realized, though, that this report wasn’t intended to solve the state of modern parenting, but to establish the extent of the problem. And I recognized myself there, in the tricky, heavy business of raising kids and running a household in the face of fearfulness and uncertainty. But what happens when there's more to the story?

Sudden, unexpected trauma as the primary source of parental stress is touched on only briefly in the report, despite the fact that many of us have experienced something like this, or will: a tragedy so random and out of bounds that it leaves not only our hearts shattered, but our belief systems, too. For me, it was the death of my older sister in a bicycling accident, seven years ago, that turned my whole system on its head — an epic loss that made every assumption I had held about life feel flimsy and foolish. In an instant, everything became dangerous; nothing was safe. My generalized, dare I say “normal” new-mom worries escalated immediately into a stubborn, all-encompassing anxiety and habitual hypervigilance, snowplowing in the extreme. Except it didn’t come from a place of wanting my kids to get ahead — honestly, that was the furthest thing from my mind. I’ve operated this way because I genuinely believed that’s what was needed to keep them alive.

Parenting from this mindset is a disaster. We know this, and yet, it’s helpful to understand how many of us have landed here: about 5 out of every 100 adults (or 5%) in the U.S. has PTSD in any given year.

My anxiety didn’t come from a place of wanting my kids to get ahead — honestly, that was the furthest thing from my mind. I’ve operated this way because I genuinely believed that’s what was needed to keep them alive.

The year Maureen died, my oldest, Scotty, was almost three, and his sister Caroline had just turned one. I’d read enough Janet Lansbury by that point to know, intellectually, that it was healthy and necessary for them to explore and experiment. But if I had been a bit of a hoverer before, the post-traumatic shift happening inside my mind brought an alertness I couldn’t turn off. It was like living inside of a split screen: one side showing my kids doing typical kid things, the other with a night vision overlay that revealed lurking almost-accidents in every direction. I couldn’t get out of my own way. So I got into theirs — barking out dire warnings of coffee table corners, too-high climbing branches, and tricky playground obstacles. If I had a dollar for every time I shouted some variation of “Be careful!” I’d be very, very rich.

I’ve often wondered if, within a year or two, I would’ve eventually found a way to mellow (or, another word I love, integrate) on my own, but life had other plans. Our youngest, Will, arrived prematurely at twenty-eight weeks and six days gestation in November of 2019 after a horror show of pregnancy complications. His three-month NICU stay and subsequent post-discharge health crises dovetailed with the dawn of Covid, so things continued to be not only scary and stressful, but infinitely more complex.

For a solid year, Covid shutdowns did a lot of the work for me. It was easy to decline playdates and outings and limit visitors, and everyone, to my great delight, became as obsessed with hand washing as I did. But as life opened back up, I started to feel like the person time forgot. I didn’t yearn for socializing or in-person alternatives to Zoom. I was fine sending the big kids to school in masks if it meant keeping Will healthy. A controversial stance, I realize, but one I was glad to take after the common cold had landed him back in the ICU.

Turns out it wasn’t just the germs. My split screen came back online with all manner of calamities unfolding on the night vision side — truly the most random, micro-level stuff. Stairs and curbs freaked me out. The stomping sound of the kids running in the house. S’more making (marshmallow spear could poke someone’s eye out), popcorn eating (you’ll choke on an un-popped kernel), and standing near a tree for too long (Google “sudden limb drop,” it’s a thing). Halloween (a kid’s dream day!) was haunted not by witches and goblins but my own ghastly hollering at anyone who stepped outside the painted confines of a crosswalk, or, God forbid, into one without a firmly lit WALK signal beckoning. With each small freedom granted, the instinct to retreat grew. One day my Instagram algorithm correctly served up a meme that read “Actually, all my systems are nervous,” and I thought to myself, Umm, yeah. I should have shirts made.

In the choice between fight, flight or freeze, I was certifiably frozen. In thought and in time, unable to acknowledge what could not be more clear: my one-size-fits-all safety strategy no longer worked, if it ever did. The kids (even Will!) were growing bigger, stronger and more capable in all the ways, which made my hyper-vigilance the increasingly limiting factor in their lives.

I’d argue that the most unreasonable expectation of a parent is to raise children alongside the intimate knowing that stuff happens.

But didn’t the fact that we all had made it this far just mean I was doing a really good job? To me, the more obvious move here was staying the course: I’d keep on with my mental tally of fun times had vs. worry expended, forever balancing the karmic equation that determined the safety we were owed.

I should have known better, right? Didn’t the death of my brilliant, beautiful sister followed by a totally unforeseen pregnancy debacle teach me life’s essential lesson on the illusion of control? Yes, and: nothing made more sense than tightening my grip. If our multitude-containing son or daughter, spouse, sibling, parent, or friend can, despite everything else, be reduced to an unfortunate case of wrong place, wrong time, or, — worse — Oops!, is there any more appropriate response as a parent than limiting the places and shortening the times?

That is what I needed the Surgeon General to signal in the advisory: a cellular-level understanding of what life with kids can look like when loss and trauma have upended your world view. By all means, his calls for more parental support, through policies and other institutional improvements are woefully needed, especially where looming wrong place-wrong time tragedies actually can be avoided (no more salient issue here than gun safety, in my opinion). Surely, there is urgent work to be done. But where his focus lands more in the stress parents feel to “keep up,” I’d argue that the most unreasonable expectation of a parent is to raise children alongside the intimate knowing that stuff happens. Stuff we didn’t plan for, and indeed, stuff we might be spending our whole lives ferociously trying to avoid.

I’ve lived with this knowing for seven years now. At times it feels like a superpower; at others, a weight I wish to put down. There is a constant tension between expansion and constriction, between “yes” moments and “no, no, no, this is all too much” — broadly, a sentiment Dr. Murthy seems to share.

So while he hasn’t yet landed on a legislative solution for existential dread, I’m heartened that he does seem to get what makes all of this worse: silence. The weight felt heaviest when I thought I was carrying it alone.

Grief and trauma responses are tough neural pathways to rewire, and it’s taken me a long time to realize that my fear will never go away entirely, nor should it.

In truth, I never was alone — but, man, has it been hard for me to feel that. My husband, my friends and family, my wonderful therapist — I’ve been extremely fortunate to walk through these difficult years with people whose brains aren’t permanently set to my doom-and-gloom channel, but tune in often enough to appreciate why mine is. They’ve also helped me arrive at what I think my goal really is: to be less reactive and more measured in my most fearful moments.

Admittedly, the progress towards these ideals has been slow-going, and only moves in relation to how open and vulnerable I am willing to be about the extent of my fears. Grief and trauma responses are tough neural pathways to rewire, and it’s taken me a long time to realize that my fear will never go away entirely, nor should it. My perspective is hard-won.

But more and more, the shift is apparent. I’ve always been buoyed by the notion that despite my heightened state, I’m still able to experience moments of real joy and ease — and from the looks of it, so do my kids. Now, watching Scotty zip down our block on his scooter (helmet firmly affixed), or Caroline set off to walk home from school with her bestie (only via streets with crossing guards), my heart bursts seeing their smiles. Wide grins projecting their felt sense of freedom, of “Look what I’m doing!” (or maybe more accurately, “I can’t believe you’re letting me do this!”). It’s elation, satisfaction, and confidence — feelings and qualities they deserve to possess, along with the skills and intuition they are building to identify danger, should it come their way.

For good reason, easing up with Will has been a bit of a different story. But our baby steps are getting bigger. Last month he came home sick with walking pneumonia, a diagnosis that’s historically been a 10/10 scare factor for me and extremely dangerous for Will and his little preemie lungs. “Remember,” the doctor said to me as we were leaving his office, “We can’t prevent him from ever getting sick. It’s about having a plan for when he does.” Jeez! Could you have told me that four years ago?

Thankfully, we survived. Will even said to me, “See, Mommy? (cough, cough), I’m fine!” “Louder!” I told him, and he repeated his declaration, with another cough for theatrical effect. He gets it, I thought, and hopefully so does the universe. I don’t do subtle when it comes to these reminders, I need it loud and clear: he’s a different kid now. I suppose I’m becoming a different mom, too.

Catherine Nettleton lives in Westchester County, NY with her husband and three kids (ages 10, 8, and 4.5). Her writing is focused on the topics of grief and loss, parenting, and caregiving.

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'Dino Dex' Is Prime Video's Newest Show In The Dino Franchise — FIRST LOOK

Amazon

There are few things better than a STEAM show that combines all of your kid’s quirks — love of art, curiosity, science — and if you’re on the hunt for a new one, Amazon Prime definitely has you covered. Part of the Dino franchise that included previous beloved shows like Dino Dan and Dino Dana, there is now Dino Dex — and Romper has the exclusive clip.

Debuting Sunday, October 20 on Amazon Kids+ and Prime Video, Dino Dex is going to open up a whole new avenue for science-loving kids. Every kid has a dinosaur phase, but for the kids who question exactly why we think of a T-Rex as being a muscular dinosaur with a roar that could shatter glass, Dino Dex is the show for them. Set in the Dino universe, six years after the latest season of Dino Dana, Dino Dex picks up with 9-year-old Dex, Dana’s little brother, who has the same Dino Field Guide as his predecessors to magically see and study dinosaurs in the real world — but with a twist.

The show has taken real science knowledge and paleontology discoveries and weaved them into the show, by having Dex uncover new dinosaur facts and change everything we thought about some of our favorite prehistoric buddies. With the help of his next door neighbor Kayla, the two will question all of the world’s previous dinosaur knowledge and use it to see the dinosaurs for what they really are — and what they can really do.

Romper has an exclusive clip below:

I mean, that’s not exactly how you’ve envisioned velociraptors before, is it?I love how Dino Dex will encourage kids to not only question the world around them, but to get extra creative with their thoughts and ideas through discovery. The show will also introduce 10 new dinosaur species, so if you thought your little paleontologist knew a lot before — just wait. The Dino franchise was already doing a stellar job at making science accessible for kids, and now they’ll feel more empowered than ever to get curious, create their own opinions and ideas, and share those with others.

Not all of Season 1 will drop immediately — and there will be 26 episodes — so you and your kids can enjoy checking out new episodes together as they’re released. If you need a little refresh, Dino Dana — both the series and the movie — are available on Prime Video as well.

Dino Dex premieres on Sunday, October 20, exclusively on Amazon Kids+ and Prime Video. Even if your kid’s not fully into dinosaurs yet, this is a great show to introduce them to the wonder of the prehistoric age, especially as so much of what we thought we knew about this time changes with modern discoveries. There’s action, there’s fun, and there’s a whole lot of creativity in Dino Dex. I can’t wait to watch.

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