It’s also been said that keeping his name to myself is just silly. But if you knew how hard it was to name him, you’d understand why I wanted it to be *just mine* for a while.
The Fiancé and I fought long and hard over names. He wanted (and I don’t know how serious he was, but I wasn’t taking any chances) “Dutch” [Arnold Schwarzenegger’s character in Predator 1] and “Brock” [some wrestler] and “Logan” [Wolverine, duh] and I wanted “Brodie” [have you seen Mall Rats?] and “Corey” [Empire Records].
When I first discovered I was pregnant, I was so sure I was having a girl that I promised The Fiancé that if it was a boy, he could have full naming rights. Ooops. My bad. It was a boy. Judging from my Fiancé’s choices I just mentioned, you don’t blame me for negating on that promise, do you?
We simply couldn’t agree. I would phone him while driving to work and list a whole bunch of names. All of which were rejected. I read every naming site on the Internets, from A-Z. I even crowd-sourced suggestions on twitter. It was 8 months of arguing. Almost having a name and then discarding it a few hours later.
Nothing worked. Until the day before we went into hospital. Finally, I think it was crunch time that made us agree on a name. Two names. He got to pick the first name, and I got the second. But we agreed on both.
And so. The time has come to tell.
Travis Quinn Shepherd.
There. I said it out loud.
There. I shared it with you.
Are you satisfied now?