Babies R Us

Not being a mother myself, I've always felt a little handicapped when it comes to babies. I know enough to agree with the new parents about how amazingly beautiful and precious and perfect their newborn is but I've never quite seen it. I don't mean to be crude but they all look like squinched up monkeys to me and I doubt I could tell one from another.

The agency gets quite a lot of baby pictures from parents who are convinced their little angel can be, given the chance, the next Gerber/Pampers/Ivory Soap/Huggies baby. We hear how playful and sunny-natured they are, how well-behaved and affectionate, how they love to have their pictures taken. We hear how easy they are to work with, how bright for their age they are, how talented and how astonishingly photogenic. We hear with sickening regularity, how everyone who meets little Bambi or Jessilynne or Jackson or Owen says they should model. Mothers, far more than daddys, gush at how well their little bundle of joy takes direction.

Oh, please.

Infants eat, sleep, cry and soil their diapers. They're not even house broken never mind career-oriented.

Some of these parents, I have no doubt, are sincere but others are looking for no more than what they think will be a quick payday. Exploit your child, get rich quick, and land on Easy Street. It never occurs to them that the grainy, out of focus cell phone image might not be worth the pixels it takes to create. It never occurs to them that they might have to make an actual investment in their child. They're offended by the idea that we're looking for children who can read and focus for more than 15 seconds and actually sit still and quiet for 20. They don't seem to realize that a 6 month old baby ought to be allowed to be a baby.

So we're headed into this new project cautiously - a department store in a nearby state has put out a casting call for all ages starting at 6 months – and Michael has decided to test the waters.

I have a sudden urge to look for a life jacket.