My friend, the opera director Stewart Lee, once claimed that people have babies because of vanity - they want to create a tiny copy of themselves.
The more romantically minded (and possibly those that understand that up to now babies are a combination of two people rather than a clone of one) might see it as a chance to celebrate their love for someone else, by creating a human that is literally made up of constituent parts of them both.
One might argue that this is also a form of vanity. For what is love of another if not an attempt to show off about how great you yourself are?
Perhaps people have children as a means of deferring to someone else the quest for meaning to life. Aware that they are finding no answers for themselves, they decide to create another human being, who it is their job to raise and nurture, and who will then be responsible for finding some greater purpose and etching their mark on history. Meaning you don't have to worry about your pointlessness any longer. That's your kid's problem.
Possibly the desire to reproduce is merely an unstoppable biological imperative.
In most cases it is probably down to faulty contraceptives (or more often improper use of the same).
I don't suppose it matters why we have kids. It seems that we do.
Although I personally don't. I have no children (w-ha-ell, n-ha-ot tha-ha-t I kno-ha-w-aho ha-of). Really I'm pretty sure I've never impregnated anyone. Possibly I'm shooting blanks. I used to spend a lot of my adolescence playing computer games with a hot keyboard across my lap. I suspect it sterilised me. But at least I am really good at Defender.
I probably thought that I would have kids by now. I've always liked them, they've always liked me and I'd probably like to be a dad.
Not out of vanity (I don't think) or out of the desire to be some kind of mini-God creating another life, possibly because it would give my life some kind of concrete meaning, probably because it must be cool to watch another human being grow, to pass on your knowledge (this would doubtless only apply up to its second birthday in my case), to understand with perspective all that your parents did for you, to relive those days that are lost to hazy memory. Maybe rather than being an act of vanity, it's an act of humility. Suddenly you are no longer the most important person in your world.
Then again I think of all the work it involves, and the dirty nappies and the fact that I like being the most important person in my world and decide I can probably leave it for another decade or two.
Of course some of my friends have babies and it's quite good fun to enjoy the wonder of youth on a temporary basis and then leave when the babies start to puke and cry.
I'm not going out with Paddy's mum anymore, but we're still friends and I still go to see them. We all went out for lunch today. It's been a while since I last saw him and I was hoping he might be walking now, but although he was able to walk beside me if I held his hand. when I let go he just sat down and started to crawl.
It really felt like he was ready to do it, but just lacked the confidence to give it a go.
I drove him and his mum home and we had a drink and played some games. I told Paddy, "I'm not going home til you've learned to walk," and I encouraged him to make the two or three steps to his mother on the sofa.
We turned it into a bit of a game, prompting him to go back and forth between us. There was some falling and some grabbing at us, but pretty quickly he'd managed to take a couple of successful steps.
It was all very exciting, but not massively impressive because it was a tiny distance.
But gradually I moved further away and although there were a few tumbles and a few tears, Paddy had suddenly, got the hang of walking on his own, even if he did look like he was a little drunk dwarf.
It was a truly magical and triumphant experience for us all. He cheered and clapped himself as he lunged into our arms. He knew as much as us that this was an incredible, life-changing experience. To be lucky enough to be a witness to this magic was a great privelege. It may have been one small and faltering step for a baby, but it was a giant leap for his potential to get himself into trouble.
I'm not Paddy's dad, in many ways I wish I was, but in this encounter (as well as many others with him, but in this one particularly) I got some indication of what it means to be a parent (for whatever reason we might happen to become one - and I'm not sure biological paternity has that much to do with it). It's more about humility than vanity that's for sure (though there's a bit of both in there, just as having a child makes you self-less and selfish), but I'm not so sure how easy it is to put the feelings into words.
It was certainly a joyous and life-affirming experience.
I drove home in a weird state of emotion and was happy, until I realised that Paddy had only started to walk after I'd told him I wouldn't leave until he did.
He was just trying to get rid of me.
Once again the little terror had defeated me.
