i think we've finally come to a solid agreement on our little man's name, thank the "eight pound, six ounce, newborn baby jesus, in your golden fleece diapers with your curled-up, fat, balled-up little fists pawin' at the air"*. and oddly enough the last battle to be fought (and won by me, ha!) had only to do with the spelling of the middle name. i cleverly realized weeks later that by using my choice of spelling, that he could have a rather wicked choice of logos and branding options with his initials (should he ever be interested in such a thing). once i showed ND my crude drawing of one such example, he came over to the dark side. muahahahahaha. wish i could show the drawing but that might give too much away and after our baby/wedding news announcements were thwarted by nosey family members, we're guarding this little tidbit until he's born.
*Ricky: Dear Tiny, Infant, Jesus...
Carley: Hey, um, sweetie, Jesus did grow up. You don't always have to call him baby. It's a bit odd and off-puttin' to pray to a baby.
Ricky: Look, I like the Christmas Jesus best, and I'm sayin' grace. When you say grace, you can say it to Grownup Jesus or Teenage Jesus or Bearded Jesus or whoever you want.
musings from a reluctant (but hopeful & loving) first time mother...
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