names, names, names

Before I was pregnant, I knew what we would name our next child.  I had a handful of unused favorites from our name-list for Reed.  And now and again I would run into a girl name that seemed just right.  But I didn’t know our baby, yet, and the moment I found out I was pregnant, I knew none of the names I had would do.  She is not an Olive.  He is not an Alden.  (Sigh.  I really loved “Alden.”  It means “old friend,” you know.  Isn’t it nice to call your son an old friend?)

So I left our old lists in Reed’s baby book where they belonged and began making new ones.  I have of course learned by now that these lists are pointless.  What we do is this: I make lists and lists of names and know all the pros and cons and meanings and popularities.  I present them to Adam and he says which he likes and which he doesn’t like.  He won’t think about it at all.  Until all of a sudden out of the blue, he’ll say it.  The name.  He’ll say it once and that will be it.  We won’t talk about it.  I might even make up a few more lists.  But we both will know.  That’s the name.  That’s our child.


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