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Of Kids and Socks
By Christina Quick | May 8, 2008
Just in time for Mother’s Day, a Harvard professor is informing us kids aren’t worth the trouble.
Having children is a recipe for long-term misery, Daniel Gilbert, a psychology professor at Harvard University, told a group of professionals this week in Sydney, Australia.
Expectant parents experience a spike in happiness, Gilbert told attendees at the Happiness and its Causes conference. But, he added, “as soon as you have them, trouble sets in.”
“When does it (happiness) come back to its original baseline?” he asked. “Oh, about the time the children grow up and go away.”
And what of the millions of moms and dads who claim to enjoy parenthood? Gilbert says such people are self-deluded. He oddly compares parental investments in children to buying designer socks.
“I suspect that one of the reasons that people who own Armani socks think they are wonderful is because they have paid $85 for a pair,” Gilbert said. “The psychologists tell us that we like things more when we pay for them. What does that sound like? It sounds like children.”
When people say parenting is their greatest joy, Gilbert sees it as evidence their world is too small.
“My reply is that, ‘Yes, when you have one source of joy, it’s bound to be your greatest.’”
Wow. I wonder if this guy has children. It’s true there’s more to parenting than decorating a nursery and cooing over layettes at baby showers. I grew up playing with dolls and dreaming of someday being a mom, but actually becoming one opened my eyes to realities I had never before considered. Who knew infants could spew molten, volcanic matter out the back of their diapers and into their hair? Or that toddlers were so skilled at tossing random items in and out of grocery carts? No one warned me about frantic calls to the pediatrician’s office over a bumped head or high fever; temper tantrums in public places; long car rides and their effects on children’s stomachs; magic markers in the washing machine; homework assignments forgotten until bedtime; or the nagging guilt of wondering if I’m doing it all right.
There are other things for which I wasn’t fully prepared. (Warning: I’m about to wax sentimental. If you prefer to believe happiness and parenting are mutually exclusive, stop reading now.) Like the lump I get in my throat every time one of my children says, “Mom, you’re the best!”
I never knew how selflessly I could love or how easily little things — a toothless smile, a tiny hand reaching for mine, the words “I luv you Mommy” scrawled in crayon, an afternoon at the petting zoo, small talk over a milkshake — could stop me in my tracks and make me count my blessings. I couldn’t have comprehended the joy of watching my children grow an inch at a time or the heartache of letting them go an inch at a time.
For me, true wealth has nothing to do with Armani and everything to do with pouring my life into someone else. There’s no greater joy than watching my children mature intellectually and spiritually into people who, I believe, will one day give to others just as they have received.
Call me delusional if you wish, but my kids really do make me happy. In fact, my life as a mom is bursting at the seams with laughter, hugs, adventures and new discoveries. My relationship with Christ is my ultimate source of joy, but the children He has given my husband and me are wonderful gifts to be cherished and enjoyed. I don’t know many people who rush home to spend time with their sock drawers, but at the end of the day I can’t wait to wrap my arms around my son and daughter.
“Oh, go your selfish way and free
But hampered I would rather be,
Yes rather than a kingly crown
I would be, what you term, tied down;
Tied down to dancing eyes and charms,
Held fast by chubby, dimpled arms,
The fettered slave of girl and boy,
And win from them earth’s finest joy.”
— From “Tied Down” by Edgar Guest
“Children are a heritage from the Lord…” (Psalm 127:3).
Topics: Parenting |
May 14th, 2008 at 2:01 pm
Wow. I know hundreds of parents who would disagree with this guy. How sad he must be.