I’m 46, unexpectedly pregnant despite having entered perimenopause, with three children already (the youngest is 4). My husband calls this a “disaster,” and believes abortion is the clear choice because we didn’t want another child or plan on this pregnancy. I feel differently. Though I am pro-choice, the idea of terminating a pregnancy makes me deeply uncomfortable, and I’m afraid I would regret it.
He thinks I’m hung up on the moral question. But doesn’t that indicate that keeping the pregnancy is the more moral option? (We live in a European country where abortion at this stage is legal, so access is not an issue.) I’m taking the long view: Looking back at the end of my life, would I really regret one of my children?
My husband’s arguments are that a baby will upend our professional lives, that he doesn’t want to return to the exhaustion and social isolation of early parenthood and that he’s unwilling to take on a full-time caregiver role again. We each work in a precarious field — humanities research and the arts — and it’s true we can’t predict how another child might affect our work. But I find myself wondering: Will I even remember, let alone regret, a “lost” year of work when I’m older? We have a stable family, as well as access to the financial benefits afforded to families living in a social-welfare state. Choosing to end this pregnancy feels like a decision based on short-term disruption, and that seems too small a reason.
Recently, our circle of friends has experienced real tragedies: the sudden death of a young mother, a severe stroke, the loss of a baby carried to term. These, to me, are true “disasters” — not an unplanned pregnancy. My husband’s most powerful argument (though it’s more a feeling than a rationale) is that he feels angry and powerless. As someone who writes about agency and its absence in historical lives, I genuinely empathize with him. Any thoughts to help guide us? — Name Withheld
From the Ethicist:
Having a child — even when you’ve already had children — is what the philosopher Edna Ullmann-Margalit called a “big decision”: one that transforms you, one you can’t take back and one in which, as she put it, “the choice not made casts a lingering shadow.” What’s transformed is not just your life but also a landscape of values: You come to care about someone whose existence previously wasn’t part of your world. And that care can be deep, irreversible and defining.
You already know this. That’s why, when your husband calls the prospect of another child a “disaster,” the word feels inapt. You’ve seen real disasters, and this doesn’t feel comparable. He’s worried about disruption: the toll on careers, on sleep, on a hard-won sense of stability. These are legitimate concerns. But you don’t see them as permanent in the way that having a child is.
Two realities, then, are pressing in at once. First, the decision is ultimately yours; it’s your body and you alone can decide whether you’re comfortable having an abortion. Second, it’s a decision that will reshape a shared life, and your husband has a stake in that reshaping. He’s not wrong to feel conscripted into something momentous without his consent.
Your decision has layers, too. Although you think that abortion can sometimes be justified, you sense that it involves a moral dimension, even if you’re unsure what that dimension entails. Psychological unease can linger when we act under moral uncertainty — not because the act is necessarily wrong but because we fear it might be. And this complication wraps around a question that’s deeply personal. You’re asking: Can I bring myself to step away from this surprising future that has suddenly opened up before me — perhaps for the last time? What has weight for you is the sense that you’re unlikely to regret this child, even decades from now.
And yet “regret” isn’t the real axis of decision. Many women who choose abortion believe it was the right decision, and still understand that, had the child been born, the love and meaning the child would have brought to their lives would have been real. Like them, you’re choosing between two different futures: One contains a person whose life you will shape and be shaped by; the other preserves space, energy and attention for the people and commitments already in your life.
Your doctors will have told you that at your age, you face elevated risks of miscarriage and of chromosomal abnormalities. There’s no guarantee the path ahead will be smooth, or even viable. That uncertainty can make the future feel both more fragile and more urgent. Wanting to sustain this pregnancy means acknowledging such risks and still feeling the pull.
Your husband’s concerns, meanwhile, deserve real acknowledgment. He believed this phase of life was behind him, and the prospect of reliving it without any say in the decision is understandably distressing. Even if you separated, this child would still affect him, materially and emotionally. His frustration, you make clear, isn’t just about sleep or workload; it’s about agency. In a shared life, that matters.
But in a shared life, it’s also true that sometimes one person feels something the other doesn’t — at least not yet. And still, you go forward together. That process may take time. It may involve grief, friction, adaptation. The hope isn’t perfect agreement. It’s that mutual care persists, even when agreement falters.
Ullmann-Margalit wrote that big decisions transform us not just because of what they require but because of how they realign our sense of meaning. You’re in the midst of that realignment now. You are choosing between two possible lives — each with its own appeal, its own costs. You find yourself at a threshold. And whatever lies on the other side, you’ll meet it as the person this decision is already helping you become.
Readers Respond
The previous question was from a federal worker grappling with whether to retire from a job in a department where co-workers are potentially facing layoffs. The reader wrote: “I am a federal employee who is eligible for retirement. I have a job that is intellectually challenging, gives back to the public and is personally rewarding. As federal government employees in my department face potential layoffs, is it ethical for me to defer retirement? There would be no negative impact for me in retiring, and I am certain I would be offered other jobs because of my expertise.”
In his response, the Ethicist noted: “You may believe that retiring would spare someone else from being laid off, but in reality, it’s hard to know whether your departure would do so. Work-force reductions are typically complex, and the ripple effects of one departure are difficult to predict.
“Your continued service has worth — to you and to the agency. The presence of someone skilled, experienced and committed to public service could strengthen the agency, at a time when the federal work force faces unprecedented strain. Staying can help stabilize the ‘hip of state’ — an important benefit in these turbulent times.” (Reread the full question and answer here.)
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I am a retired federal executive who works for a government contractor in D.C. Numerous friends and business contacts of mine have thought about doing the same thing, and they’ve been told that their retirement would not ensure retention of their position for a more junior federal employee. — Bob
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I was a federal employee for 30 years. What often happens when an agency is downsizing is that a position left vacant after a retirement is just left vacant, even if the work done by the retiree is important. No one is spared getting laid off. I would recommend that if the reader thinks their job is important, and they are otherwise happy with it, they should stay put. There’s no guarantee that retirement will save anyone else’s job, and it could leave important work undone. — Robert
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Some agencies have hard numbers of employees that need to be cut, and they plan to do so in order of seniority. In those cases, the departure of a worker with few remaining years may leave space for younger workers with more time to dedicate to the mission. If that is the case at your agency, think hard about your other options and what your agency needs. Staying now might leave your agency with fewer experts in the long run. — Craig
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Do what feels right to you. If you feel unsafe about your job position, by all means, take the retirement. No one should judge you, and, as you said, you’d probably be able to find a similar position elsewhere. If you don’t feel threatened, then continue working until you don’t feel secure in your position, or until you simply don’t want to work. — Zach
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I hope the federal worker defers retirement and continues to work — to provide continuity and stability during a time of extreme instability. — Katherine
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There is really no way to know, and in this case, I suspect everyone being targeted could still be let go. What the person could do is provide insights or mentoring to those who might be at risk on how to make themselves more valuable in the workplace. — Robert
Kwame Anthony Appiah is The New York Times Magazine’s Ethicist columnist and teaches philosophy at N.Y.U. To submit a query, send an email to [email protected].
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