In a couple of months, we will be welcoming our third boy child into the world. The thought of this glorious event is sometimes enough to make me want to run screaming into the night.
Don’t get me wrong; I love the idea of having a third son to share all the love and lumps with. If I can teach my growing brood to annoy, charge, and tackle each other, they will have less time to do those things to me. Plus, in those moments when their demons are sleeping and their testosterone is quieted to a slow simmer, there will be one more example of fleeting sweetness to enjoy for 3-5 minutes fortnightly.
The part that tempts me to share my terror with the neighbors at 2 a.m. has to do with practical matters. Will he eat the groceries we’ve clipped coupons for? Will I ever be alone with my wife again? Did I just push back my retirement until NEVER? Will our Golden Years be constructed of tin and duct tape?
Before getting caught up in these long-term worries, I guess we should tackle the more pressing issues, like deciding upon a name for Baby Number Three that is shorter and more endearing than Baby Number Three.
The first time my wife and I ever put our heads together to think up a baby name, it went swimmingly. We amicably agreed upon the perfect name . . . for a girl. We’ve held onto that name, and the memory of that peaceably-reached agreement, through nearly three boys. The names of the first two were bitter struggles.
Neither of us is above compromise though, which is why our first two sons have names at all. Somehow, we found two boys’ names with which we both can live. I am not certain there are more than two boys’ names with which we both can live. This is why we have not yet bothered to discuss naming the impending child.
We have no desire to enter into that fray again, so we avoid it. This will continue to be a good strategy until that moment when a hospital administrator approaches my wife’s bedside with a clipboard in hand and a gaping blank on her page. Then, the wheeling and dealing will be fast and furious and the result may not be worth the already-spent nine months of peace.
Fellow Blogger, Don, from Don of All Trades, has hinted that we should name this child after him. While I agree that Don is the perfect name for those already named it, I hesitate to add another one to the population. Don of All Trades has a catchy ring to it, but there’s hardly room for a middle name, and the kids might shorten it to DOAT, which has an awkward sound to it.
Perhaps we should auction off the naming rights. The proceeds might alleviate some of my other fears and it avoids the fight that’s brewing. Any bidders?