That’s No Babymoon
You know the made-up word “babymoon”?
I don’t like it. I don’t use it. I wish it didn’t exist.
By the way, this weekend, Mom and Buried and I are going on a babymoon.
You know the made-up word “babymoon”?
I don’t like it. I don’t use it. I wish it didn’t exist.
By the way, this weekend, Mom and Buried and I are going on a babymoon.
Despite all my whining, I love my son. He’s a pain, but he’s my pain.
It’s other people’s sons – and daughters – that are the problem.
I know what you’re thinking: why hasn’t Dad and Buried written about his son’s penis?
Well, you’re in luck!
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!