Maybe buying a book with 60,000 baby names (that will eventually turn into grown-up names, lovers of the name "Baby") was probably not a good idea for someone with my particular level of neurosis. I was able to cut out 50% of them this week, though, when the very personable ultrasound tech exclaimed,
"Oh, yeah. Gender? Well. Looks like a girl...see? Leg, leg, nothing."
Thanks man. I understand that you see a lot of prenatal vaginas, but maybe you could at least pretend that this is something to be excited about? Eric and I looked at each other awkwardly, afraid that any display of emotion might result in a blown circuit for the suspected Robot Doctor. Not exactly the Kodak moment you imagine when assigning your child-to-be its genitals, but I'll take it.
So, along with trying to replace the pronoun "it" with "she," we've been actively avoiding the subject of names. How do you name a person before you even meet them? Actually, how do you name a person even after you meet them? Typically the people I meet already have names, and I sort of like it that way. It's just too much pressure. I know there have been no conclusive studies on a person's name limiting their job prospects, but I also know I've never met a Pepper Jones, M.D. or Supreme Court Justice Rainwater Adams. I want a strong name that lends to adorable nicknames when she's little and is not emotionally crippling as an adult. A friend of mine pointed out, though, that "she's probably just going to change it to Beyonce anyway," and so, you know, they aren't that permanent after all. I'm going to try not to worry about it until I have to sign a birth certificate.
Next, in this week's edition of Reasons I'm Not Ready to be a Mom:
Yeah, that's exactly what it looks like. It's called a Snotsucker, and it has ruined all of the flowery motherhood feelings I was beginning to develop. This thing has hundreds of 5-Star reviews on Amazon. The picture alone makes every hair on my body stand up. Am I a terrible person? If I'm not willing to siphon boogers out of my helpless daughter's face, how will she ever know I love her?
I've got to get away from the internet.
One final thought, America. For the entire half-hour I sat in the doctor's office waiting room this week, I was forced to listen to that bearded guy on CNN talk about Arnold Schwarzenegger's affair like it was 9/11: The Sequal. I don't typically comment on celebrity gossip because a) I don't own a television, and thus don't usually know any, and b) I don't care about Lindsay Lohan's vagina. However, I was completely baffled by the coverage this story was getting. You guys, he was a celebrity and a politician. There was no way he was going to keep his pants on for any substantial amount of time. How is this still news? I'm shaking my head at you, Guys Who Determine What's Important Enough to Televise for Six Hours.