It was 1974. A year of immense social change. And on the radio, a song emerged that would become both a cherished anthem of love and a flashpoint for a cultural firestorm. That song was Paul Anka’s “(You’re) Having My Baby,” a ballad so deeply personal it would soar to number one on the charts and, in the process, ignite a controversy that shocked a generation. For many, it was a beautiful ode to impending parenthood. For others, it was a slap in the face.
This was supposed to be a triumphant moment for Anka. After his initial burst of fame as a teenage heartthrob in the late 1950s, he was staging a major comeback. The album, Anka, was his reentry into the mainstream, and “(You’re) Having My Baby” was its crown jewel. The melody, a lush and sentimental blend of gentle piano, warm acoustic guitar, and soaring orchestral strings, was undeniably beautiful. It was the perfect sound for a love letter, a tender message from a husband to his wife. But the devil, as they say, was in the details—or in this case, the lyrics.
The controversy exploded over a perceived sense of ownership in the song’s title and verses. As the Women’s Liberation movement was gaining momentum, Anka’s words struck a nerve. “I remember hearing it on the radio and just feeling a sense of unease,” recounts Brenda Davies, a retired librarian who was a young woman in the 70s. “He sang ‘You’re having my baby.’ It felt so possessive, so dismissive of the woman’s role and sacrifice. We were fighting to be seen as more than just vessels for men’s legacies, and that song, while musically lovely, felt like a step backward to many of us.”
Anka’s duet with the talented Odia Coates was meant to soften the message, to frame it as a shared and intimate conversation between lovers. Indeed, Anka’s defenders point to a particularly vulnerable line in the song as proof of his heartfelt gratitude: “Didn’t have to keep it / Wouldn’t put you through it / You could have swept it from your life, but you wouldn’t do it.” This line, intended as a powerful acknowledgment of a woman’s choice and sacrifice, was tragically lost in the heated debate. To his critics, it only reaffirmed that the decision was ultimately his to approve of.
The song became a paradox. It was, and still is, a beloved staple at weddings and baby showers, a symbol of family and devotion for millions. It brought Paul Anka back to the pinnacle of commercial success, proving his enduring talent for crafting a hit melody. Yet, it remains a contentious piece of music history, a lightning rod for debates on love, ownership, and partnership.