Our third child, a boy, is due in April. My husband and I do not have a name picked out and likely won’t by the time he arrives. With our two older sons, we brought a list of possible names to the hospital and named each baby the day after he was born.
A couple of nights ago we had a long (and initially productive) baby-name discussion. This is how it ended:
I said, “I still like Grayson. Or maybe just Gray. Something like—“
“Something Batman-esque?” He asked.
“No, I didn’t think of that, but there’s your comic-book connection.”
“Something that says, ‘My parents were doomed acrobats?’”
“Shut up! Are you going to let me say—“
“Something that says, ‘boy ward?’”
“SHUT UP! What I’m trying to say is, ‘Something like Grace, but for a boy.’”
“Something that indicates a possibly inappropriate relationship with my legal guardian and benefactor?”
I ignored that, but was suddenly struck by his earlier comment: “’My parents were doomed acrobats!’ God, you’re a dork!” Then I laughed for about five minutes straight.
Somewhere in there, he said, “Nice delayed reaction.” I laughed so hard I had to pee.
When I came out of the bathroom, he said, “I’ll let you name the kid Grayson if his middle name can be Nightwing.”