Guys, is it wrong to crowd source baby names? I don’t care, I’m doing it.
We’re having a reeeeally hard time with this, we have a few that we’ve been batting around, but nothing I’m in love with, nothing I can imagine saying several times a day for the next (omg) eighteen years and beyond.
Adam’s not much help, he’s 100% certain that the baby is a boy and as such will only suggest boy names. But boy names like “Steve”, and “Bruce”. It’s very tempting to me to acquiesce, if only because the thought of sending out a birth announcement that reads simply “Steve” seems inexplicably hilarious to me.
But, amusement notwithstanding, I apologize to the Steve’s and Bruce’s of the world, we will not be adding to your numbers.
Obviously a dog is not a baby, but with Gus it was never this hard. Years before we got him we knew we wanted an English Mastiff named Gus. I have no idea where the name came from but we had this vision in our heads of a giant dopey dog, and Gus seemed perfect.
His official name on registration papers and such is Augustus Squid. Augustus because I felt he needed a full name so I had something impressive to holler at the dog park or when he defiled part of our home, and Squid because that’s what he was named at birth, being the runt of the litter (I know).
But for a child, a little human being, things are harder. Waaayyy harder. Especially given that I work with teens and like anyone who regularly works with the same people over and over again, some names have been irrevocably tainted by unpleasant experiences.
So I’m taking to my internet blog to beg for suggestions.
My general preference is towards old man/old lady names like Henry and Oliver; Beatrix and Lila, and away from trendy names/spellings like Ashlynnn and Neveah, Kayden/Brayden/Hayden and such.
Also: Adam’s last name ends in -er, which in my mind means the child’s first name shouldn’t end in -er (sob! Goodbye Oliver). Other than that, anything goes!
Please, let me steal your baby names?
Adam just blathered some long mumbo jumbo of a monologue about tethered jailbreaks and reset buttons and reboots whilst anxiously pacing the house carrying an alarmingly long extension cord.
The only response I could muster was to start compulsively repeating “Ya need ta TOOT IT and BOOT IT” over and over again in a singsong voice while simultaneously gyrating my hips in some sort of grotesque interpretive dance.
I’m convinced that the only way I can stop is if I figure out where this damn phrase came from and/or what the hell it means.
Seriously even Gus is over it.
TOOT IT AND BOOT IT!
I just snapped and rubbed olive oil on my lips. Olive oil. Why olive oil? Because when I began this descent into madness I thoughtfully put all of my eleventy-two tubes of Chapstick in a box and sequestered that box in the sex attic. I was setting myself up for success! But really I was just setting myself up to sneak off to the kitchen and rub cooking oils on my person. Butter? Do you think butter would work better?