I was blessed with a pretty smooth pregnancy, there was no debilitating morning sickness, weird cravings or swollen ankles, but there was one part of my pregnancy that was not very fun at all – picking names for the baby. It was so painful in fact that we had ceased even talking about names for fear I might have totally lost it and so when they handed Skye to me and dear husband thrust his phone in my face to take a picture so he could make the announcement to everyone, the first words out of his mouth were “What are we going to call her?” My response, possibly with some obscenities was “Don’t ask me, I just had a baby!” I think the picture says it all really. Do I look like someone capable of deciding something as definitive as the name my first born is going to have to live with for the rest of her life? I was lucky to have the presence of mind to pull that sheet up before Luke starting taking happy snaps.
We didn’t want to find out the sex of the baby when I was pregnant because I figured I wanted something to look forward to during the birth. Even so, for some reason most of my friends and even complete strangers were convinced I was having a boy. Luke seemed to believe it too because whenever we tried to discuss possible names he always suggested labels of the male persuasion for our little bundle. Now I know that most couples will disagree on names for their children but hands up how many of you had your husband walk proudly through the door one afternoon and say “I’ve been thinking about names for the baby, what do you think of Robert Dazzler, or Bobby Dazzler for short?” No takers? Hmm I didn’t think so.
Some of his other memorable picks included Randy, William Robert (Billy-Bob) and Buck (because it will be funny cos the teacher will think he is swearing). His right to name anything was confiscated after that particular offering.
After 9 long months of naming agony you can’t imagine my relief when Luke offered “Skye”. In my emotional and exhausted state I think I may have cried purely from the happiness of never having to utter the words “This is my child, Billy-Bob Smith”. Argh! Am I the only one that hears banjo’s?