As we enter the final frontier - I mean trimester - Daddy-O and I have been discussing names.
As we enter the final frontier - I mean trimester - Daddy-O and I have been discussing potential names for Tibbons’s sibling with the frequency of those early contractions. For the uninitiated, that’s fairly often.
It’s not an easy job. I know from the outside it sounds quite fun, probably conjuring up memories of the excitement you felt at naming your new pet rabbit. But “Pickles” isn’t quite going to cut it here. (I did suggest it, but Daddy-O exercised his power of veto).
First, there’s the great weight of responsibility bearing down on your shoulders; this is the first piece of information most people who meet your child will receive about them and you want it to make the right impression - or, at least, not wholly the wrong one.
That means thinking through initials, famous namesakes, possible nicknames - all sorts.
Then, there’s the fact that you both have to agree. Admittedly, this should help with quality control' if two of you like it and can’t foresee any immediate problems stemming from the choice, then you must be halfway there, right?
But it also means that perfectly lovely names fall by the wayside because one of you knew a Sam who was perfectly awful. 22 years ago.
And if you think you can turn to friends, family, or colleagues for advice, then you’re wrong. The words “thin ice” spring to mind.
Either they’ll unwittingly denigrate a name you love or you’ll talk about the awful suggestion someone else made, only to find out that’s your co-worker’s middle name or top of your friend’s “names wish-list”. (Incidentally, I’m beginning to see now how wise such lists are; jotting down nice names as you go through life ought to make these weeks of wrangling easier, or at least a bit quicker).
Then, once you have the perfect moniker picked out, you’d better sit tight, keep schtum, and hope that no-one you know gives birth before you do.