Children. Toddlers. Babies. When did I stop seeing them as the fleshy equivalent of teddy bears and start thinking of them as cute little things I might have some day?
Somewhere along the line, my fiancée convinced me that it’s not the worst thing to have a kid, or even more than one — which, as an only child, is barely comprehensible to me. They are still years away, but … they are there, somewhere in my future.
So, I look at babies. Especially the redheaded ones because, as I was a redhead (my grandmother used to call me a “redheaded woodpecker”), my fiancée is convinced we will have little redheaded children, and that they’ll be the cutest things ever.
However, she was a little curly-headed child. And while curly redheaded girls are adorable, curly redheaded boys are shunned and mocked. And rightfully so. Red honky ’fros are ridiculous, and I must convince my fiancée of this. Perhaps a marathon of “The Greatest American Hero.” (It’s on DVD now.) Or a Carrot Top show.
Shunned and mocked, I tell you.
Years away. Years in which they can perfect push-button cloning and choose-your-trait genetic engineering. For all the potential little woodpeckers out there, we can only hope.