We quarrel over trivial things, as families do. When I come home from the office, in a country where the sun sets before four in the afternoon wintertime, I like to turn on all the lamps, a behaviour the rest of the household deeply disapproves of. That particular February day in 2020, my 14-year-old daughter switched off a dimmed light exclaiming: "If you continue doing that, I can never have any children!" I snapped back something about her own carbon footprint, and compared the impact of teenage online series binge watching to me enjoying one modest LED lamp. Internally, however, I was stunned, and quietly pleased. While I knew that my daughter would probably like to become a mother, I had not understood that children were such an integral part of her plans for the future. I also sensed a certain optimism in her calculus: even if energy consumption and our current way of life have created a world in which her generation may not feel safe to have children, the situation could, from her point of view, still be changed-the lamp could be switched off. My guess is that such a combination of personal wishes and societal hopes will determine future fertility trends in wealthy, democratic societies like contemporary Finland. Individualistic lifestyles, high living standards and perceived resource scarcity-whether economic, social or psychological-have resulted in young Finns currently both wanting to have and actually having fewer children than previous generations. More worryingly, these conditions also appear to have resulted in growing uncertainty and ambivalence regarding the decision about whether and when to have children. In the wake of the novel coronavirus pandemic, levels of economic hardship will be significant, which could further suppress fertility. However, cognitive and emotional resilience might also grow.