On Baby Names

The inevitable questions that you get when you’re pregnant:


When are you due?


What are you having?


Do you have a name picked out?


“Can I touch your belly?” is also in there, but not as prominent as the other three, and often it's acted on before being asked. Hands off, Gropey McFeelerson!


The first two questions are pretty easily answered with no trouble. Spit out the date. Tell them a bit about what you’re having: We don’t know. Twins. A boy. Puppies. One of those alien deals that pops right out the belly – no need to induce; that’s a plus.


It’s that third question that’s the problem. There is an infinite number or names for a baby, and when you think about it, only one is right. And what’s right is subjective. What’s right to mother is not right with the grandma. Gershwin? Feldspar? I will be cold and dead in the ground before I have a grandson named Wilbur!


That, by the way, was for illustration purposes only. My sincerest apologies to the Gershwins, Feldspars, and Wilburs of the world that just spit up their old fashioneds in indignation.


If you say a potential name to a friend or stranger alike, if they are polite they will say, “Oh. That’s nice” but with an expression usually associated with a cat hair in the throat. If they are impolite, it’s worse, or they may even helpfully posit that the name is stupid.


Thanks.


We will tell you the name when we figure it out. Which might be tomorrow, seeing as someone we know had her baby a month early (nice name, Hanna Mabel, by the way).


In the mean time, we do have names that we call the boy for easy reference; feel free to use one of them:


Rico, RJ,little RJ, Arj, Hugo, Herbert, Lumpy, kicky, Squarebaby, Elbows, Cletus (the fetus), Bugger, and Little Brat.