Naming a Human

Though paraphrased and occasionally reordered and cut to remove the (believe it or not) extraneous bits, this is a more or less faithful representation of dinner conversation tonight: “Bartholomew?” “We can’t name him Bartholomew. Isaac?” “That’s the cat’s name.” “Oh.” “Augustus?” “I like Augustus.” “Octavian?” “Not really.” “Flavius?” “…” “I’m looking at a list of Roman emperors. Sirius?” “No, I already though through all the Harry Potter characters.” “Paul? No, St. Paul was an asshole. Um.” “Breadstick?” “Oooh, I like that. Six Pack?” “Is that hyphenated?” “I don’t know. Look, let’s just scrap the whole surname thing and —” “Madonna.” “No, it’–” “Bono.” “I–” “The baby formerly known as Critter.” “What about some good German names? Hans.” “Adolf.” “Stop that. *pause* Hirohito.” “Anakin.” “Obi Wa… Ben? Now there’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time … a long time.” “Benjamin?” “Wilson?” “I already did all the presidents.” “Carter?” “Ooh, I like Carter, actually.” “My Republican friends would shit their pants.” “Maybe we could try to inoculate the baby against being a conservative by naming him Reagan.” “No.” “Why are boy names so boring? What’s the most masculine flower you can think of?” “I dunno. Dogwood?” “A dogwood is a tree, not a flower.” “A dogwood is a tree and a flower.” “We can’t name the baby Dogwood.” “I think a Magnolia is a manly flower. Hearty leaves and petals. But you couldn’t name a boy Magnolia.” “I think we’re getting off track here.” “Getting?” “Spatula.” “Kumquat.” “Ruprecht.” “Kieran.” “No, everydamnbody is naming their kids with Irish names now.” “Who was the nicest Gospel writer?” “Luke.” “Anakin.” “We already said that.” “Kanye.” “Tupac.” “Biggie.” “YES.” Welcome to the world, Biggie Bird Shit. We love you very...

We’re having a boy

That’s wonderful. We thought we were having a girl. But we’re having a boy. It’s thrilling, joyful, happy, bouncy bouncy bouncy! OUR CHILD IS NO LONGER IT. (Insert extended aside about the variability of sex expression and the recognition that sex is not a binary being the next big fight after gay rights.) Now we have to name him. His last name and middle name will come from my side of the family. First name from Ms’ side. Problem is, everyone on her side of the family has ONE NAME. ONE FREAKING NAME. And it’s one we don’t want to use. Because it would be sort of like naming the kid Vanilla. So we’re playing this game in the car. Look at random street or business. Say the name. Laugh that we can’t name the child Chase or Howard or Panera. That’s when I looked out the window. “Oh, bird shit,” I said absently. There was bird shit on the window. “Honey,” said Ms, “we can’t call the baby Bird Shit.” What followed was a full 10 minutes of painful hilarity. “So, Bird Shit, I’ve been looking over your résumé, and it’s impressive. Can you describe any challenges you’ve overcome?” “Do you, Bird Shit, take … I’m sorry, I need a minute. Ok, phew. Do you, Bird Shit, take Gopher Poop to be your spouse?” Well, there’s someone for everyone. “Bird Shit? Are you here?” “Yes.” “Do you go by anything else, Bird Shit?” “No.” “Not Birdie?” “No. My parents are very formal.” “RED ROVER RED ROVER SEND BIRD SHIT ON OVER!” Oh lords we needed...