If the Government Wants More Babies, It Should Make Parenthood Affordable

Gen Z women like me are having fewer babies. That shouldn’t be a surprise—with prices for everything going up, our parents’ steady jobs, white picket fences, and retirement packages feel much less attainable for us.

But the government wants to make us change that. In the US and elsewhere, anxiety over aging populations and shrinking labor forces has been woven into the claim that women in their 20s somehow owe the economy more babies.

Our fertility becomes an asset on a balance sheet to counteract falling birth and marriage rates. Women who choose to put our own lives and interests first get branded “childless cat ladies,” as Vice President JD Vance once called us. But if being in no rush to get pregnant means I’m a selfish cat lady, I’m proud to claim the title.

A better path would be to pass policies that support women who do want to have children but can’t afford it: like paid leave, affordable and reliable childcare, and making family planning and perinatal care accessible for all.

Half of all pregnancies worldwide are unintended, reflecting a broad pattern where women’s power to choose when and whether to have children is compromised, contested, and unequally distributed. Pro-natalism—a set of policies or attitudes designed to pressure women into having more children—is part of that pattern. It stigmatizes those who resist as selfish.

To me at age 21, being “selfish” means finishing my degree before even thinking about starting a family. It means refusing to take on a dependent while still outgrowing my own dependency. It means treating my body and my reproductive choices as my own rather than as a budget line item or labor input. It means doing what I have to do to navigate an economy where costs are skyrocketing.

Today, the average cost of raising a child from birth to 18, including daycare ($17,264 annually for five years), food ($4,208 a year), and transportation ($4,422 a year) comes to over $300,000 and counting.

Under the so-called Big Beautiful Bill, Congress created $1,000 “Trump Accounts” as a “baby bonus” to encourage women to have more babies. But in that case, they’re missing a few zeroes. And since money is kept in a stock market index fund until the babies turn 18, it won’t help parents with the high costs of raising kids.

So much for the carrot. Then there’s the stick—attacking reproductive healthcare so pregnancy is harder to avoid. For starters, abortion bans have spread across the country since the Trump administration’s hand-picked Supreme Court justices overthrew Roe v. Wade.

Meanwhile, the Trump administration has removed federal funding for teen pregnancy prevention programs, opting for abstinence-focused, fertility-tracking curricula instead—which studies show result in higher teen pregnancy rates.

The administration has also undermined Title X, the only federal program providing family planning services to low-income people. Historically there has been bipartisan support for it. But last year, funding for 22 Title X grants was frozen, putting 834,000 people at risk of losing access to birth control, cancer screenings, STI testing, and more. That funding was later restored thanks to a lawsuit, but next year’s budget proposes to eliminate it again.

A better path would be to pass policies that support women who do want to have children but can’t afford it: like paid leave, affordable and reliable childcare, and making family planning and perinatal care accessible for all. These should be consistently funded, reliable commitments that don’t get yanked back when administrations change.

Rejecting these attacks doesn’t mean I don’t want a family or child someday. It means the choice belongs to me and to every woman, on her own terms. Gen Z women refuse to have our bodies and reproductive agency pressed into service in some futile attempt to balance the books of a chaotic economy.

No recycled misogynist insults about cat ladies, no performative “baby bonus” bribes, no motherhood medals are going to override my own power to choose when or whether I have a child. If that makes me selfish, it’s a label I accept happily.