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Several years ago, my then-girlfriend (now wife) and I traveled to upstate New York to meet some of my graduate-school friends who’d had their first baby six months earlier. At the time, we were undecided on whether we wanted kids of our own. That weekend we watched my friends parent their baby together like a well-oiled machine, discussing his needs and shuffling around the house to meet them while the four of us laughed and caught up. We marveled as Eric made us pancakes and eggs on a griddle with one free hand while he held the baby cooing against his chest, so that Sara, who was nursing, could nap. “I mean, I’m more tired than I’ve ever been, but I also love it

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