Choosing a name for your kid is never easy. Especially the second time around.
When things are purely hypothetical, it’s a cakewalk. It’s when the timeline starts shrinking that the panic sets in.
Mom and Buried and I had a little trouble the first time, and things haven’t gotten any easier as we approach the third trimester with our second son. In fact, they’ve gotten much harder. Not only do we have to agree again, the name has to fit with the first kid!
If we have a third (NO CHANCE IN HELL), one of us might lose a limb.
Now that the cat’s out of the bag about the impending new addition to the Buried family, let’s get down to the nitty-gritty: gender identification.
When we realized Mom and Buried was pregnant, we started speculating about what it would be. My wife wanted a girl for a variety of reasons, some that were general (a girl to bond with!), some that were personal (she grew up with, and loves having, sisters), some that weren’t big priorities (variety!). I know, a mom wants a little girl? This is not surprising to people.
What may be a surprise is that I wanted a girl too!
Will we get one? You’ll have to come to my house for a slice of color-coded cake to find out!
The “dad bod” trend has been a boon to dads – and non-dads – everywhere. I was at the beach last week, and everywhere I looked, it was dad bod city.
Who can blame us? Men suddenly have validation for our laziness, and apparently there’s an entire subset of women who find our beer bellies attractive!
I admit that I have a dad bod of my own, but not on purpose. I go to the gym several times a week, and I try to eat healthy, give or take 100 beers a week. I don’t want a dad bod. I hate even saying dad bod. And I especially hate the people I blame for giving me one.
Disclaimer: This isn’t a parenting post, per se. Unless, like me, you have kids and are scared for their safety. Then it’s definitely a parenting post.
As I said in a Facebook update late last night, one that has thus far cost me a devastating 18 followers (and counting), I don’t usually discuss this country’s gun control issue, for several reasons. (The least of which is that I prefer discussing how much I hate my son to discussing things I actually hate.)
But when my friend Carter Gaddis posted an honest take on his concerns with NRA membership on his DadScribe blog, I felt compelled to share it. Because I agree with a lot of it.
Of course, when I shared it, all the reasons I never jumped in to the debate jumped out at me. But, if I may speak for Carter, people misunderstood his post.
And that’s exactly what the NRA wants.
Last time we had to name a baby, it was a struggle. There are a ton of terrible names out there, and the list grows with every new series of young adult science-fiction books.
We lucked out and the name we chose ended up perfectly suiting Detective Munch.
But we left one name in the holster that might have made even more sense. Maybe it will work this time around.