On a crisp Helsinki morning in July 2025, Poa Pohjola, 38, and her partner Wilhelm Blomberg, 35, found themselves embracing a new chapter of life as they welcomed their first child. Their baby, bundled against the Nordic chill, napped peacefully on the apartment balcony—a nod to a cherished Finnish tradition that, as Pohjola quipped to NPR, is believed to help babies sleep soundly even in colder temperatures. "They sleep very well outside, in colder degrees, I think," she laughed. "Or, that's how I grew up thinking."
The couple’s journey to parenthood wasn’t straightforward. Pohjola admitted she’d once doubted she’d ever have children, wrestling with uncertainty in her twenties about what she wanted from life. It wasn't until her mid-thirties, when the window for pregnancy began to narrow, that she realized motherhood was part of her future. One evening, she confided this to Blomberg, who agreed he was ready for the adventure. "One, in a way, convincing argument was that both of us have had time to, like, roam around and do what we want in life," Blomberg explained, reflecting on their readiness to become parents after years of independence.
Pohjola and Blomberg’s story is increasingly rare in Finland, a country facing a dramatic and persistent decline in its birth rate. According to Beritaja and NPR, Finland’s total fertility rate has plummeted to historic lows—currently below 1.3 children per woman, far beneath the replacement level of 2.1 needed to sustain the population. The decline has been so pronounced that, as Eeva Patomeri of Kela, Finland’s taxpayer-funded social insurance agency, noted, "Sometimes the box, we start delivering it in spring, and now it was August, and that's because of low birth rates." The iconic government-provided "baby boxes"—filled with clothing and essentials for newborns—have been distributed since the 1930s. Yet, in 2025, many new parents were still receiving boxes left over from the previous year, as demand has dwindled along with the number of births.
Despite the Nordic region’s global reputation for generous family policies—paid parental leave for both mothers and fathers, affordable childcare, and comprehensive national healthcare—these benefits haven’t stemmed the tide. Birth rates across the region have dropped sharply, with Finland’s falling by a third since 2010, making it the lowest among the five Nordic countries. Anneli Miettinen, research manager at Kela, observed, "So we cannot really any longer say that it's our good family policies that explain good fertility in the Nordics." The puzzle is confounding experts, who once believed that strong social support would safeguard against such a demographic shift.
Immigration has helped offset some of the population decline, but it hasn't erased the underlying anxieties. Policymakers and demographers are increasingly concerned about the long-term consequences: an aging population, a shrinking workforce, and growing pressure on the pension system. The specter of a future where there are too few workers to support the elderly looms large. Anna Rotkirch, of the Family Federation of Finland, led a government-commissioned report exploring possible causes and policy responses. She found a persistent gap between the aspirations of young Finns and the families they ultimately form. "We go to schools; you talk to 17-year-olds, and we are like, 'What would be your ideal family? If you want a family at all, what would be your ideal life?'" Rotkirch recalled. The answers were often traditional—"a small house with a dog and a garden and a spouse and three children"—but, as she lamented, "that's not going to happen. If the world goes on like it's now, you know, half of you, this is just not going to happen."
Why are young Finns delaying or forgoing parenthood? The reasons are many and intertwined. Rotkirch pointed to shifting priorities, with many focusing on education and career advancement. Those who do have children are waiting longer to start families. Relationship dynamics have also changed, with technology playing a complex role. "Screens are away from actual physical, embodied interactions, and it's in those interactions that babies get made and also people fall in love," she explained. The digital age, it seems, has made forming lasting relationships—and thus families—more challenging.
Milla Tuokkola, a 34-year-old television writer in Helsinki, offered a candid glimpse into these struggles. Divorced and open to the idea of having a child, she’s found the world of online dating fraught with obstacles. "They're just very porn-brained…objectifying," she said of the men she encounters on dating apps. "I feel like they're being radicalized online when they're young." For Tuokkola, finding a safe and reliable partner to start a family with feels increasingly out of reach.
Financial concerns also loom large. Anselmi Auramo, a 28-year-old student engaged to be married, told NPR he plans to become a father one day, but isn’t sure when he’ll be financially ready. "Whether it's [the] American dream or Finnish dream or whatever it is, it seems so distant, and you expect to have that in order to have the family," he said. Many young adults share similar worries, citing economic instability and broader global uncertainties—like climate change and the rise of authoritarianism—as reasons to hesitate.
Finland’s predicament is not unique. Countries as varied as China, Russia, and Canada have experimented with a range of policies—from cash incentives to extended parental leave—to encourage higher birth rates. Yet, as Miettinen pointed out, "These types of policies may not be enough any longer, but we need to invent something else to support young adults." No single solution has emerged, and the most expensive policy interventions have often yielded limited results.
Rotkirch believes that the path forward lies in listening to the younger generation. "But what we can do as the elderly generations and what the policy makers can do is really prioritize this," she urged. "Prioritize listening to young people—their wishes for family formation—and support them." It’s a call for empathy and innovation, recognizing that the desires and challenges facing today’s young adults are fundamentally different from those of previous generations.
For Pohjola and Blomberg, the new parents in Helsinki, the future remains uncertain. Pohjola recalls Finland’s financial crisis in the early 1990s and worries about economic stability. Blomberg, too, is concerned about climate change and the shifting political landscape. "We are in such turbulent times, and it's hard to, like, have a sense that you can control things," he reflected. "And one thing you can control is whether you're having a baby or not, as it's so hard to predict what the future will bring." Still, the couple is considering a second child. Blomberg, who is close to his brother, would like their son to have a sibling, though Pohjola is more hesitant. "When I start overthinking it, I'm like, 'Okay, we would need to have this child quite soonish, and then we have a toddler and a baby. And okay, we won't be sleeping, so it's gonna be a lot of work.'" Yet, she admits, the experience of having one baby has made her more inclined to try for another.
As Finland grapples with its demographic crossroads, the choices of individuals like Pohjola and Blomberg reflect broader currents shaping the country’s future. The nation’s story is not just about numbers, but about dreams, doubts, and the delicate balance between tradition and change.
