So I'm having another baby.
I accidentally announced this in the New Kids post from last week. I don't really know what I was waiting for to talk about it on here (as if a blog posting makes it completely official or something, right?). But I didn't mean to just slip it in. Like I did.
I'm past the first trimester and as of yesterday am 13 weeks pregnant. I've had two ultrasounds (the last one unplanned after several agonizing minutes of the doctor not being able to find a heartbeat with her little heartbeat-listening tool. I finally said, "So ... is my baby dead?"). But the baby was fine and when I saw her on the screen, she was moving and punching her little fists in the air. A fighter already.
So Rye has been giving us name suggestions.
They are all from Star Wars.
And lately he's insisting on just one.
Here's how a recent dinner conversation went.
Rye: "I know what we can name the baby." Sly smile and sparkle in his eye like he is the cleverest kid ever.
Me, as usual: "What?"
Rye: "I know. I know! CHEWY!"
As in Chewbacca, the hairy monster guy from Star Wars, who I know is a GOOD guy, but who, dude, freaks me out. And that noise he makes? I can't take it. Here is his photo. See what I mean?
So Rye knows this, and that is why he continues to insist we name the new child Chewy. But only if it's a girl.
If it's a boy?
Rye: "If it's a boy, let's name it Herbie Husker."
Uh, no. Mommy vetoes that one as well. Never could I name a child after a football mascot who eerily resembles George Bush. See:
So what will we name the baby?
I know what I'd like for a girl. Dane doesn't agree with me on my choice for a boy.
I fear a nickname coming on, though, regardless of what the real name ends up being.