Ice Ice Baby? Court Rules Frozen Embryos are Children

Being a single parent is TOUGH.

A few days ago I was a carefree bachelor in Alabama, but with this week’s Supreme Court ruling, my entire life has been turned upside down. When I purchased a frozen embryo off of Facebook Marketplace, it was just a weird little oddity, but now I’m legally responsible for its well-being and it’s stressing me out.

I had initially applauded the Supreme Court’s decision to designate a frozen embryo as a living baby – but do they really have the right to make me a father?

Forty-five percent of the staff at my office is getting laid off next week so the remaining fifty-five percent of us decided to get them farewell gifts. My plan was to give Sharon a frozen embryo as a gag. I figured she’d scream in surprise, laugh, and then toss it into the trash – but that can’t happen anymore!

Now that this weird little mutant inside an ice cube is legally recognized as a baby, I can’t sell, give away, discard, or otherwise transfer it to anyone else. I’m its legal guardian! I don’t know if I’m ready to be a father, and frankly being financially responsible for a baby is going to hinder my multi-year dream of purchasing a PS5.

I don’t want to be a dad, and if this embryo was alive – sorry, I mean it absolutely is alive despite being completely inert, non-responsive, and trapped inside a block of ice – but if it was actually alive (like, the normal kind of alive) I doubt it would want to have me as a father.

My baby lives inside the freezer behind a pint of Ben & Jerry’s. It’s the limited edition Ruth Bader Ginsburg flavor, “Scoop-reme Quart.”

This Kenmore refrigerator and I are essentially co-parenting. Here’s hoping my apartment building doesn’t get hit with a blackout, or this frozen “baby” is going to be a room temperature puddle of goo in about forty minutes. Not to mention the ice cream, that would be ruined as well.

But until an unscheduled power interruption takes my baby away from me, I need to really step up and become the father this not-a-baby thing really needs. This little overgrown zygote deserves a caring parent, so I watched a twenty-second TikTok video that explained what that means.

It means I need to provide it with affection that it’s not aware of and incapable of receiving. It means being there – for something that doesn’t know you’re there. Listening! To something that never makes a sound. It’s hard, and it’s confusing, and it’s messy, but that’s what being a “dad” to a creepy little unborn object that could fit inside a plastic Easter Egg is about. Yes, my child looks like a modern art exhibit and is not truly alive, but I love it all the same.

Because according to the Alabama Supreme Court – this is my baby.