Frankly, without knowing your family genome to a tee you have as much luck predicting the genetic code of your child as you do winning the lottery. In other words, unless you're exhuming your ancestors for blood samples or giving in to the latest version of Frankenstein science (paying big bucks for a designer baby) you're just going to have roll the dice. Well, you could both just get a simple DNA test done, but where's the fun in that?
Having a child is a gamble, and not knowing what you're going to get is the best part of the whole process. Like you, I spent hours pondering what my child would look like, so much so that I often got so hung up on the same queries- brown of blue eyes, penis or vagina- that I didn't even stop to worry about something as inconsequential as hair type.
And, so the day came and my daughter was born. I looked down to see this baby girl that looked exactly like me, except for one interesting curve ball- her hair. So I had to ask: "What's up with that?" How do two people, a guy with thick brown wavy hair and a girl with dark black ringlet curls, produce a baby with a thin layer of sandy blonde locks that is straight on the top and curly in the back? When the hell did Grandpa Munster sleep with my wife?
It's the most ridiculous hair EVER! You can't comb it. You can't straighten it. And you can't hide it under a baseball cap (we've tried- she won't have it). The only time it looks normal is straight out of the bath, but god forbid you don't dry it before she goes to bed - she wakes up looking like a poodle. So now, 520 some odd days in to her life, we have to make a decision: do we cut it, or do we see just how bad it can really get? It can't get any more unruly (so we think) but we don't have a point of reference as no one can recall any member of the family, past or present, with this most horrifying of hairdos. Do we go the Celine Dion route and let her go all Cousin It, or do we shave it to look like Uncle Fester. When is it actually appropriate to ask a professional to step in and tell us the worst case scenario. What parent wants to hear the words, "We're sorry, but there's nothing we can - your daughter has Perma-perm."
But, I guess, what's really worse, putting your child through the trauma of getting her first hair cut or letting her look back on childhood photos of herself wondering why her parents didn't do something- anything- to control this awful affliction?
It's a conundrum alright, one that cuts both ways, but I'll be damned if we don't try something, anything to save our daughter from this most mystifying of genetic debacles. After all, how bad could her first haircut be?