I fear for my future child/ren. Not so much for their safety, but for the accidental moniker they might get stuck with. Over the next few years, my wife and I will spend countless hours hashing out names, then decide on the perfect one and get monogrammed Winnie the Pooh baby bath towels and everything — and I will still be referring to him/her as Hypothetical Future Baby Spotswood.
Hypothetical Future Baby is what I call our son/daughter because he/she is 1.5-3 years away from even beginning to exist and we have to call him/her something and we don’t want to use even possible names because we might decide to name him/her something else and if we don’t put enough caveats in there our friends might get ideas. Even with “hypothetical” and “future,” some people inevitably respond, “Baby? How hypothetical? Is there something we should know?”
To which I reply, “No there isn’t. Shut up. Stop that. No, no, NO.”
But Hypothetical Future Baby is already impacting our lives. Mostly in the field of automobile shopping. Not only does whatever vehicle we purchase be large enough to accommodate H.F.B, but all his/her accoutrements as well. Do you know how much room a stroller takes up? Neither do I, but I’m guessing a Mini Cooper doesn’t have it. I argue that we can strap it to the roof (the stroller, not the baby), but my wife will have none of it. So, even before we name the little tyke, he/she is forcing me to do complex calculations to determine the maximum amount of cargo space that can be parallel parked on Capitol Hill and the minimum amount needed to carry an elephant’s weight in toys.
So, perhaps if the lad/lass gets stuck with a name like Hypothetical Future Baby, it’s not so much a hardship — but revenge for my two-door coupe that could have been.