When Hubby and I found out that we were expecting a boy, we were ecstatic. But what popped into my mind immediately was a stream of names that I didn’t want to associate my precious with. Specifically, names of lousy ex-boyfriends, the office loudmouth, the nasty ex-client…
“So, have you thought of a name for your little one?” friends and relatives would ask. And each time the husband said that “we” were going to name him Tom, I’d cringe.
He’d reasoned that the name was short and sweet, and reminded him of our talented choirmaster. I, on the other hand, could only associate the name with a creepy salesman who once tried to date me.
When the 32nd week rolled by without us having agreed on a name, I was certain that by the time it came to having my crotch shaved at the operating table, our baby would still be called, well, Baby.