Wanting To Be a Dad at 43
I want to have kids. I’m 43. This is how that feels.
Note: this text is 100% written by me, a human.
I received a message out of the blue from a past girlfriend. It was a photo of a little kid enjoying one of my books. “Congrats on your books,” she said, “my daughter loves them.” The universe can be tongue-in-cheek sometimes. Funny enough, this wasn’t the first time I got message like this. These messages delighted me, but also affirmed a truth I carry around, that I’ve always wanted to be a dad. A confusing notion for a man. It’s not really my choice, is it? But choice and desire can live independently.
I’ve been around long enough to watch friends, even the ones who swore they’d never have kids, start a family. To witness them in their world of wonder and overwhelm. To watch them reinvent their lives, themselves, for better or for worse, to accommodate this brand-new person. Some of them deliberately decided it was time, others had a happy accident, others pretended they didn’t want kids and acted surprised when it happened. My mom always told me I was a happy accident. (Side note: it’s not always good to tell your kid they were a happy accident.)
I’ve watched some people grow up really fast after becoming parents. I’ve seen new parents unable to handle the stress of a child, their lives going completely off the rails, untangling into despair. I’ve seen parents who were naturals, raising a child effortlessly while maintaining big careers and already busy lives. But mostly what I’ve witnessed has been somewhere in the middle. Struggles I can’t understand, joy like none other in this life, lost sleep, and a cacophony of new smells and bodily fluids. Nonetheless, a complete reinvention of their lives.
There’s a popular notion these days that people are choosing not to have children. They might like their personal freedom, or it might have to do with the environment, finances, or even mental health. I’ve considered joining this camp for a long time. I get it. It all resonates with me. But there’s another truth inside of me. One that longs for a life where my heart beats outside of my body. A few years back, I gave myself until I’m 45 to have a kid. No stress. If I found the right person, if it felt right, I’d go for it. Now I’m 43 and certain I want the monumental task of raising a child, even in this broken world.
Maybe this desire has something to do with the town I moved to, where just about everybody has a kid or three. Maybe it’s because I make children’s books, and witnessing the joy of young readers is a gift I’ve become privy to. Maybe it’s because I’m surrounded, more and more, by chubby little faces staring into my soul, reminding me of a part of myself that understands nothing and feels everything.
Maybe it’s an overinflated ego, telling me I’d be a great dad, and an admission that I’d be a great partner, too. Whatever it is, I’m as certain as I can be that if the stars align, I’m ready for life’s greatest responsibility. Or life’s most selfish act. However you want to look at it.
The joke I keep coming back to is “yeah, I’d have a kid, I just don’t have the womb.” But to make a family with someone, it’s more than that. I’ve gotta work through all of the big things with them. For me, I’ve found this takes about a year of dating. Could be less if I’m lucky. Or more if I’m stubborn. I’ve been lucky in love to share my time with some partners that still are a part of me. They’ve shaped my soul. They’ve made me honest. They’ve carried me this far. But it just wasn’t the right timing, as the saying goes.
So if I’ve given myself till I’m 45, and I just turned 43, and I need at least a year to get to know my partner really well, and I don’t want to rush it but I don’t want to leave it to chance. And I don’t want to open submissions either, could you imagine? I really do want to bump into her on a hike or in transit. We can quickly exchange some observational humour and become fast friends and fast lovers. But if I know one thing, it never happens like we expect it to. She might even have a child already. Maybe a family finds me this way, if at all.
Yes, I have dogs. I know some of you are going to say this. And you’re right. They’re great. But, you and I both know, it’s not the same. There are a few similarities but the Venn diagram overlap is very narrow. I love being a dog dad. Having a dog has shown me that I can commit to loving a living being. That I will put another creature’s wellbeing before my own. Seems like this would be invaluable. My dogs are also the subject of my books, of course. I can’t even imagine how it would feel to give my own child the books I’ve made. To have them giggle a bit then over time lose interest. To watch them grow up, old enough to recognize that this is my life’s work, and that finally they can rebelliously express how little they care about that. Finally getting that ego back in check.
So to want children as a 43-year-old man feels powerless. In truth, it isn’t my decision. It feels like the time has passed and I should hang up that hat. It feels a little shameful like I should have a family by now, previous generations would have been grandparents at 43. It also somehow feels right knowing I wasn’t ready before but I am now. And a little bit hopeful. It comes with a necessary resignation that this is not ultimately in my wheelhouse. But resignation can feel like freedom. I have to accept that it might not happen, and enjoy my life anyways. Be a good friend to my friends with kids and enjoy the secondhand wonder.
Ultimately, I feel happy that I know who I am and I know what I want. It took me a long time to get here. A lot of mistakes. A lot of growing up late. It’s all life. It’s all beautiful. And I know I’d have to say goodbye to my life as I know it to welcome a new one. Another freeing resignation. There’s no skipping to the end of our life’s chapters, just a constant practice of witnessing and accepting. Witness and accept and witness and accept and repeat. Chapter after chapter. And hoping that our character is a little more caring, a little more capable, and a little more curious, in each new chapter.
With love,
Andrew, Yaya, & Boo
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Andrew~Your reflection is achingly beautiful, a testament to the quiet courage of longing. The desire to be a father is not a weakness, nor is it misguided. It is a sacred call to expand your heart beyond the self, to love more deeply than ever before.
In a culture that sometimes shames men for their tenderness, you have dared to speak aloud a truth many carry in silence: that fatherhood is not just biology, but a spiritual calling. You’ve already been living as a father in so many ways; you are a caretaker of souls: through your books, your dogs, your presence.
There is no shame in wanting this. The universe does not operate by clocks but by readiness. Love does not arrive on demand, but in divine timing.
Release the timeline. But hold onto the prayer. Make space in your life and heart and trust that if it is meant, it will arrive.
You are a man your future child would be proud to call “Dad.”
I’m reading this as a 30-year-old woman, currently in the middle of treatments to become a mother. On my own, because I’m not willing to wait for a man or a relationship that I don’t feel the need for right now. I’m very aware of the privilege I have in this situation. I have a womb and I can afford a donor to help make a child.
I got emotional reading your post, because I can really imagine your struggle. I went through part of that struggle myself before arriving at this decision. What I’ve learned from my journey to becoming a single mother is that so many more people are facing the same challenges I did and surely, the ones you’re facing too.
When I was a child, my mother taught me that if you really want something, you have to cast countless lines out into the world. Eventually, the right person will catch one of those lines and pull, and that’s how you find each other and make your dream come true.
Writing your post casts out so many of those lines, and I have hope that the universe hears what you dream of and that you’ll be able to make that dream a reality.
Lots of love from the Netherlands 💕