Baby naming is a source of frustration for me. Since I have historically been the one to carry our babies, I like to know what to call the thing that is beating me up from the inside. My husband, since he is usually NOT the one gestating the fetus, sees no rush in finding a name for the baby.
In my efforts to speed up the process, I have written lists upon lists upon lists of names per baby, sometimes following him around the house listing off names in a baby book. However, my already elevated blood pressure usually skyrockets when he hands me the list with every name crossed off, or he repeatedly answers, "No, no, no, no, no..." and occasionally the, "Are you kidding me? You would really want to name your child that? No."
So, after a few kids, I have learned to wait until he gives me his list of names (usually a list of one). By then, I am so desperate to bond with this creature that competes with me for my own body cavity's space, that I quickly agree and then I give birth.
As the children get older, I have found that they are just as willing to give me names as I was to give my husband names. And, I found myself repeatedly saying, "No, no, no, no," or "Really? You want me to name your sibling that?"
Jackson (not a bad name, just more common than I would like)
Dora (if it's a girl)
Diego (if it's a boy)
Boots (if it's a monkey)
Reese (ever seen Malcolm in the Middle?)
But, the best was when one of my kids came to me with a name written on a piece of paper.
"You want me to name your sibling Mule?"
"No, mom. Em-uh-lee (M-U-LE)."
So, just for fun, I'm going to refer to this kid as Mule.
Mule has arrived.