West Valley Medical Center - December 13, 2016

Okay, this kid can get out of my uterus now. I haven’t started jumping jacks yet, but I’m almost to that point. The mini human hasn’t “dropped” like they were supposed to around week 33-34, so my ribs feel like they’re being kicked repeatedly all day … because they are. Insult to injury: I had a checkup with Dr. Robinson last week and he said he wouldn’t be surprised if the baby arrived a week late. I smiled politely, but on the inside I was seething.

And it got me thinking: Is the peanut taking his/her sweet time because they are still nameless? Because I pulled that exact stunt in utero 31 years ago. My mom had to be induced three times … dynamite probably wouldn’t have pried me loose. So she came to the conclusion that I must not like my name. And she was right, because — I don’t know if you’ve noticed over the last 22 weeks — my name isn’t Sarah. It wasn’t until my parents chose Charlotte that I decided to dislodge myself from my mother’s very comfortable womb.

Not wanting to repeat history (sorry, Mom), I’ve been looking more seriously into baby names lately. Since Cam and I started dating almost 10 years ago, we’ve been keeping a running list of our favorite names. You would think that after 10 years, we’d have a few favorites by now. And we do … a lot of them. After an agonizing editing process a few weeks ago, the boy list is still 18 names long; the girl list is 12 names.

With that knowledge in the back of your brain, you’ll be surprised to hear that we have a final name picked out. If the urchin is boy, anyway. And it’s not a name that was on the 10-year list. Remember my story about how I felt the baby move for the first time … I was unsure for weeks and then he/she kicked me so hard it left zero room for doubt? That’s exactly what happened with the name. I was reading a list of popular baby names, mentioning a few out loud to Cam if I thought they had potential.

“What about [name redacted]?” I queried out loud, my hand resting on my stomach. And wouldn’t you know it … the little squirt kicked me so hard I dropped my phone.

“Eh, I knew a weird kid named that in school,” Cam said from across the couch.

“I don’t know … I think the critter likes it. He/she just kicked my phone out of my hand.”

“Oh yeah?” he leaned over to my stomach. “Hey, [name redacted]!” Another foot protruded forcefully from my stomach.

“Woah!” he jumped back.

“Is it a sign?” I’m big into signs.

“Maybe? [Name dedacted]?” Another visible squirm.

And there you have it. Every time we’ve used that name, the munchkin has physically responded. Maybe he (using a male pronoun here since it’s traditionally a boy name) hates it, maybe he loves it. Either way, it always gets a reaction. So, unless he pops out and looks nothing like a [name redacted], that’s what we’re going with.

We still don’t have a girl name picked out, but I’m less concerned about that. Probably because most of the girl names were my idea and I love them all pretty equally. If the baby is a girl, I figure we’ll just run down the list until we find one that seems right. And if none of them are right … well, maybe the baby will require sticks of dynamite like I did.

Keep your fingers crossed…