Hello everybody and welcome back to babynames.co.uk.
I hope your baby name quest has been going well this week.
Not so long ago, one of Ana’s family members, an English teacher, informed us that she taught twins, one of which was named Benson. Benson was pleasantly different, I thought. The other twin was named Hedges.
Poor children.
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We waited three days before we told our parents of Ana’s pregnancy, if only because the news had not quite resonated with us despite the positive pregnancy tests glaring at me from the bathroom bin.
We told our respective mothers first, along with a little white lie to keep the peace.
Mother #1: “Have you told anyone else yet?” (i.e. Mother #2)
Dependant: “No, no one else knows. We wanted to tell you first”. It seems that no matter what facial expression or tone you deliver the news with, there are only two concerns for the grandmother-to-be.
Firstly, is she the first person to know? Secondly, have we thought of any names yet? (That’s also so she is the first person to know).
Fact attack.
Did you know you have 42 days to name your baby once they’re born? The poking and prodding for even a hint of a name continued throughout our pregnancy (much to my annoyance) and into the following two weeks post birth.
Tip. Withhold the name. Cherish the power.
Our story continues.
Our mothers were elated at the news, as mothers are programmed to be. In fact, Ana’s mum was so happy, she rushed down to the garage to retrieve Ana’s old cot. Ana was only 17 days pregnant!
Unknowingly, this would the first of many observations of how even the mention of babies erase all rationale and logic from any surrounding woman. Or maybe it’s just that men are insensitive, heartless bastards. (Ana said I had to add that or delete the previous sentence). You didn’t think I would be able to send these posts out into the big wide world without her permission first, did you? #modernman
Our fathers were tactless, as fathers are programmed to be.
Ana and I arranged a Skype date to deliver the pregnancy news to my father. Post-pitch, he sat there, gormless and slack-jawed as if Tommy Lee-Jones had put on his dark glasses and, in a flash, erased his mind and leaving my dad capable of only repeating my own words back me.
“Ana’s pregnant”.
“She’s going to have a baby”.
Short pause.
“Oh well, never mind”. Ah, and he’s back.
Ana’s father laughed, followed by a sentence that I now hear on a regular basis: “Children are parasites”.
I am unsure about that, but his next comment definitely sucked the blood out of our conversation as he disclosed that our “sex will not be the same again”.
A topic better left for a later date I think.
