There are three questions people ask when they discover you are pregnant:
When are you due?
Is it a boy or a girl?
Do you have a name picked out?
The first two are easy to answer. They are clear cut facts told to me by the doctor. It's that last one that requires a real personal effort. I know the names I don't want- those are easy to cross off the list. But at this point, your guess is as good as mine.
There are plenty of joke names out there for the baby right now. My dear Kernel friends quickly landed on Falcon. Falcon Jamaal Warner to be exact. This name still is thrown into casual conversation about the baby just for good measure.
My other work friends were on board, only with slight alterations. Falcon Jet Racer. The Second.
That name was proposed by Billy, who asked to buy the rights to name the child, and since I was pregnant-level hungry I sold the rights for a plate of nachos. I don't think that contract is legally binding but those nachos were delicious. No regrets.
Our friend Emily told me to stand outside and shout the full name over and over and over, because that's what I'll be doing for the next 18 years anyway. If I'm not sick of it after a few minutes, it's a safe name.
I told my mother I like biblical names. She then mailed me a list she compiled of names ranging from Abraham to Zebediah.
My friend Caitie calls the babe "Bowzer."
Az and Erica refer to the child as Annabelle/Kyle.
In all of this madness, I know I may come up with ideas, but in the end, I have to look at my baby's face and see him or her in person before I can make that decision. My sister was almost named Caroline. I was almost Mallory or some other nonsense.
So as much as I love Elijah James or Lucy Ann, I know when I look into my baby's red, screaming scrunched up face, I will know what the right name is.