The Evolution of Affection

As a child, I thought evolution was a thing that happened a long time ago. You know, back in the days of evolution. But if you’re like me, you have searched the faces in a grainy photo of your ancestors and found characteristics that look familiar.

Your nephew, BraeDen, has great-great-grandpa John’s deep set eyes, and your neighbor's kid, Hayliegh, has a jaw line that bears a striking resemblance to their great-great-aunt Jane’s. Thanks to photography, we can watch evolution in action. (The evolution of our naming practices is less clear.)

Through a succession that can be well documented in grainy family photographs, my husband has evolved into a handsome bald guy who wears a goatee and black-rimmed glasses. When my baby was born, the on call pediatrician came in and introduced herself to my husband and me before examining our beautiful baby girl. She took one look at the 8 pound 8 ounce bundle and told her, “All you need is a goatee and glasses!”

It was true. Our baby looked exactly like my husband. Naturally, our birth announcement included a photoshopped image of our sweet baby girl sporting a goatee and black-rimmed glasses.

An interesting conversation followed the pediatrician’s comment that day. Apparently, there is significance beyond simple trait inheritance when babies look like their fathers. You see, back in the days of evolution, fathers were less likely to eat or otherwise destroy offspring that resembled them. This encouraged fidelity on the part of females, and apparently led to that popular androgynous look we see in fashion magazines today.

Gratefully, I am reasonably certain my husband would not have eaten our baby even if she had looked like me. Also, our baby’s femininity abounds. But if I had not given birth to her myself, I might seriously wonder who her other parent is. It seems there is almost nothing of me in her.

She has been part of our world for 17 months now. Her curly red hair and her bright blue eyes (both traits from her dad’s side, of course) bring joy to us daily. But dissimilarities between us do not stop with our appearance. Our preferences diverge dramatically.

I prefer newspapers and magazines be kept in neat stacks on household surfaces. She favors a “strewn” look on floors throughout the abode.

I prefer sleeping for more than two and a half hours at a time. She likes to think I'm standing next to her crib constantly while she sleeps, and awakens to confirm this regularly.

I prefer emptying the vacuum bag into the outdoor trashcan. She thinks the living room couch is a fine receptacle.

When I am finished eating, I refrigerate my leftovers. She systematically transfers every uneaten morsel, one by one, to the kitchen floor. It’s enough to make me wonder if toddlers have changed at all since the days of evolution.

Well, perhaps there are a few things my sweet toddler and I have in common. After all, I get the vast majority of my own physical traits from my father. But there is one more delightful, magical, and enduring trait we share, and I am sure I inherited from my mother. It is a genuine love for several games of peek-a-boo followed by a loud and lovely tickle-cuddle session and a series of kisses ranging from Eskimo to butterfly. And whether or not the days of evolution are behind us, I’m quite sure my grandchildren will inherit this trait from their mother as well.