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...

Knowing

Welp, twelve hours from now we’ll know. We’ll know if we’re having a boy or a girl. We’ll know, as far as possible anyway, if we’re having a bowl of toes. We’ll know that there’s an actual being in there, gestating. We’ll know that for the next 18 years or so – if all goes well – we are responsible for keeping something alive. We’ll know that it’s a bigger deal than the various cats and dogs we’ve been keeping alive for some time now (though that’s not to take anything away from the cats and dogs). As Ms said tonight, “Welp, we’re in it for good tomorrow.” Honeybunny, we were in it for good when we found out. Arguably we were in it for good back in April. I mean, we were in it for good back in April but … oh hell you know what I mean. Ms also said tonight that she’d been waking up at 4:30 absolutely starving. I’d heard that might happen, but Ms hadn’t said anything about it. I was going to leave something tasty by the bed for her. You know, just in case. But I reasoned through the scenario and decided that I should tell her, because I’m not 100% sure anyone – no matter how awake and hungry they think they are – would notice food 10 inches away at 4:30 in the morning. I’m a practical man, I am. Next time I post, I’ll know if I’m going to have a son or a daughter. We know what we think we’re getting. This is …...

Going Public

We told our friends on Thanksgiving Day. Just before unleashing our small horde on our pile of food fit for a much larger horde (burp, scuse me), Ms says something along the lines of “Um, you’ll probably notice that I won’t be drinking today…” What followed was what is commonly referred to as a pregnant pause. Doubly so this time. What followed that was squealing. People were happy. Hugs were given and received. Then we ate too much. Ms is currently trying to fall asleep with her feet elevated. Why? What we suspect are pregnancy dizzies. This seems to be a strong indicator that she’s into her second trimester. One third done. Holy crap. In other news, I have no idea how baby clothes work. The sizes I mean. I went to price a onesie for Critter — about whom we’ll know more on Wednesday — and it was like “Select a size” and the options were something like 000, 00, 0, and 1. I JUST WANT TO BUY A BABY WRAPPER. I hate buying clothes for myself, and now I have to pick clothes for a person I haven’t ever seen before?! What foulness is this?!? Anyway. Off to … well, I almost hate to confess this, but I’m off to google baby clothes. To see if there’s a primer out there....

I keep looking

I keep looking at my blossoming wife expecting to be surprised or nervous or something, but I’m not. It seems like absolutely the right thing. I take this as a good sign.