Every time I decide I want a child I get another pet. I have 3

Hear the playful yet poignant words of Alyssa Milano: “Every time I decide I want a child I get another pet. I have 3 dogs, 13 birds, and 3 horses, what does that tell you?” At first, it may sound like jest, but within this lighthearted confession lies a reflection on responsibility, love, and the many forms in which the maternal spirit may express itself. For though she speaks of pets, her words echo the eternal truth that the desire to nurture and protect can find expression not only in children, but in all living beings placed under our care.

The accumulation of dogs, birds, and horses is not mere indulgence; it is a testament to love redirected. Each time the longing for a child stirs within her, Milano pours that energy into another creature—an animal who will depend on her, who will return her love in silent companionship. What does it tell us? It tells us that the human heart, when moved by the instinct to nurture, will not be silenced; it will find a vessel, be it human or beast, in which to pour its care.

The ancients knew this instinct well. In Egypt, cats were cherished not only as protectors of grain but as beloved companions. In Greece, horses were raised with pride, bound with their masters in bonds of loyalty and valor. The desire to care for animals was seen not as lesser than raising children, but as part of the same sacred duty: the stewardship of life. To love the pet was to practice virtues of patience, gentleness, and devotion—virtues equally essential for parenthood.

History gives us the example of Florence Nightingale, who, long before she became the “Lady with the Lamp,” filled her childhood home with wounded animals she nursed back to health. Unable at that young age to serve humanity, she channeled her love into pets and strays. That impulse, first practiced on creatures of feather and fur, later flowered into the courage to tend the broken bodies of soldiers in war. So too, Milano’s words remind us that how we express our nurturing spirit in one domain may prepare us for deeper responsibilities in another.

Yet, her words also carry humor tinged with self-awareness. “What does that tell you?” she asks—not only of herself, but of us all. It tells us that sometimes our choices reveal our hesitations. To embrace a child is to embrace an unknown future, a burden of endless responsibility. To choose a pet instead may be a gentler, safer way to satisfy the longing without leaping into the abyss. In this, Milano mirrors the eternal struggle between desire and fear, between the longing for family and the weight of permanence.

The lesson, then, is not to mock such choices, but to understand them. For each soul has its own path, and the call to nurture may take many forms. Some raise children, some tend to animals, some build communities, some create works of art that outlive them. What matters is not the form, but the authenticity of the love poured forth. Love of a dog or bird or horse may shape the heart as deeply as the love of a child, if given fully and faithfully.

Practically, this means: embrace the instinct to care, in whatever form it comes to you. Do not belittle it because it is not the same as another’s path. If you are called to raise children, do so with devotion. If you are called to guard the lives of pets, give them your protection. And if your life leads you elsewhere still, find what is entrusted to you and tend it with honor. The act of nurturing is sacred, no matter the vessel.

Therefore, O seekers of meaning, let us take Milano’s words as both jest and wisdom. The world is full of beings in need of care. Whether it be 3 dogs, 13 birds, 3 horses, or a single child, let your love not be hoarded but given. For to nurture is to partake in the divine order of creation, and to leave the world gentler than you found it.