|
|
|
Last Thursday the four of us excitedly marched into my obstetrician’s office to watch the ultrasound of baby Tres in my belly. Fifteen minutes later we left with pictures and a memory of a squirming, healthy baby girl on the screen.
Fox household: ladies-3, gentlemen-2.
Now is the time Hubby and I planned on talking about names for the new baby. You see, ours is a tradition of fighting--no, not fighting, heatedly disagreeing--over names. The first time around, with baby G still in utero, we started looking at name books nearly right away. And nearly right away we had to veto each other’s ideas so many times that we couldn’t talk about it anymore. It got to the point where I couldn’t even remember what names I liked because I was so used to being told “No way on that one.” So we put the kibosh on baby name conversations. Instead I went to my corner and he went to his and we began keeping lists of names that we liked. Then one day he saw my list and noticed that I had a name on my list that he had on his, and that was it. That became G’s name.
The middle name for baby G took even longer. We had it whittled down to two names, two names I would have been happy with, but Hubby could not decide. Finally, two days before my induction, we sat in our car at Sonic when I turned my big ol’ pregnant body toward him and said “Look, this kid is coming in two days and he needs a middle name.” Hubby works well under all sorts of pressure and especially the pressure of his hormonal wife, and right then and there he picked the happy name.
With Little Missy we tried to not discuss names until we found out her gender. After the scars of the previous pregnancy we wanted our discussions limited to one set of names and not both. Her first name we came up with relatively easily. Then on Mother’s Day Hubby told me I could choose the middle name. And then it was me being wishy-washy, constantly trying to decide if my middle name or my sister’s middle name sounded better with Little Missy’s first. (My sister’s won out, by the way.)
And now with this baby Hubby and I haven’t even been tempted to discuss names. Well, maybe I did throw out one or two names that I liked, but nothing too serious. Then earlier this week, a few days after the ultrasound, I suggested a first AND a middle name that I liked. I swear a flash of agreement lit Hubby’s eyes before he squelched it with “No, no, you don’t worry yourself over names. I’ll let you know when I’ve chosen one.”
And… we’re not off. The race for a name has been stopped by my husband, apparently still rattled from the name game of the past two pregnancies. When this little girl is born we’ll have a name for her, and that’s all the guarantee I can give.
Last Thursday the four of us excitedly marched into my obstetrician’s office to watch the ultrasound of baby Tres in my belly. Fifteen minutes later we left with pictures and a memory of a squirming, healthy baby girl on the screen.
Fox household: ladies-3, gentlemen-2.
Now is the time Hubby and I planned on talking about names for the new baby. You see, ours is a tradition of fighting--no, not fighting, heatedly disagreeing--over names. The first time around, with baby G still in utero, we started looking at name books nearly right away. And nearly right away we had to veto each other’s ideas so many times that we couldn’t talk about it anymore. It got to the point where I couldn’t even remember what names I liked because I was so used to being told “No way on that one.” So we put the kibosh on baby name conversations. Instead I went to my corner and he went to his and we began keeping lists of names that we liked. Then one day he saw my list and noticed that I had a name on my list that he had on his, and that was it. That became G’s name.
The middle name for baby G took even longer. We had it whittled down to two names, two names I would have been happy with, but Hubby could not decide. Finally, two days before my induction, we sat in our car at Sonic when I turned my big ol’ pregnant body toward him and said “Look, this kid is coming in two days and he needs a middle name.” Hubby works well under all sorts of pressure and especially the pressure of his hormonal wife, and right then and there he picked the happy name.
With Little Missy we tried to not discuss names until we found out her gender. After the scars of the previous pregnancy we wanted our discussions limited to one set of names and not both. Her first name we came up with relatively easily. Then on Mother’s Day Hubby told me I could choose the middle name. And then it was me being wishy-washy, constantly trying to decide if my middle name or my sister’s middle name sounded better with Little Missy’s first. (My sister’s won out, by the way.)
And now with this baby Hubby and I haven’t even been tempted to discuss names. Well, maybe I did throw out one or two names that I liked, but nothing too serious. Then earlier this week, a few days after the ultrasound, I suggested a first AND a middle name that I liked. I swear a flash of agreement lit Hubby’s eyes before he squelched it with “No, no, you don’t worry yourself over names. I’ll let you know when I’ve chosen one.”
And… we’re not off. The race for a name has been stopped by my husband, apparently still rattled from the name game of the past two pregnancies. When this little girl is born we’ll have a name for her, and that’s all the guarantee I can give.
