Go ahead...Make my day

The time had arrived for a trip to Babies R Us so we could amass items for our baby registry. I am not big on receiving gifts but I do enjoy running around a department store with scanning gun. I am Jack Bauer and the President is being held hostage somewhere in bedding. I have only 24 minutes to find him. Truth be told, this was one of the pregnancy activities I was actually looking for to. It may even be one of the top 3 reasons I agreed to have a child in the first place.

After an hour in the store, this adventure proved to be not nearly as fun as I had initially hoped. Sure, there were some enjoyable moments. Like when we would walk by a fellow shopper and I’d point the gun at his or her ass, zap it and say, “Hey Honey, I just put that lady’s ass on our registry.” This may have been funny the first 3 or 4 times (probably less for Tracy) but the novelty soon wore off.

Then it was time to get down to business. And when faced with a row of strollers to choose from, spanning a distance equal to a football field, we did what any sane person would do. Walked back up to the front counter, tossed the clerk our registry gun and went to get ice cream. We needed a game plan.

Flash forward one week and we are back in the store, this time armed with sufficiently more knowledge. Well, Tracy had more knowledge. I was still as clueless as a Lost viewer. We had productive conversations like;

“Sweetie, do you think we should put a boppy on our registry?”

“What’s a boppy? Is that like a binky?”

“No. It’s a pillow.”

“We have pillows at home.”

“Nevermind. What about the diapers? Do you think Pampers or Huggies?”

“Are you serious?”

I am still not exactly sure what a boppy is, but gosh darn it, it is on my registry. After roughly 3 hours, a few realities started to sink in. Readily used words in my vocabulary like cocktails and party, would soon be replaced by such words like swaddle, binky and boppy. (A friend, who shall remain nameless, also suggested I remove “fun” from any part of my vocabulary. His words. Not mine.)

But seriously, it wasn’t all that bad. With only 89 days left until the due date, we are definitely almost, somewhat, sort-of ready…

The Invisible Man

Ok. It has happened. I have officially ceased to exist in the eyes of others (except for my wife). If people do engage me in conversation, it is merely a way to get to the only true question on their mind… “How is Tracy?”

At this point, I bet I could walk down the hallway at work with an 8 inch shard of glass protruding from my forehead, as blood squirts from the wound like water through an open fire hydrant, and as I pass people in the hall, I would probably get –

“Hey, Derek. Um, how’s it going? So….How’s Tracy?”

“Tracy? Oh, she’s fine. She is feeling much these days. Only 98 days left. Yep. The doctor says everything is moving along swimmingly. Don’t mind this huge piece of glass jutting out of my head. Really. It doesn’t hurt as much as it may appear. I don’t think it has hit any major arteries or anything. I am sure I can drive myself to the hospital. Hopefully I won’t pass out. I should be ok. My eyes sting a little from the blood, but if I keep my left eye shut, I might be able to see clearly enough to get me there. I should probably get going now because things are starting to get a little blurry. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Ok, tell Tracy I said hello.”

What's your name?

Naming a baby is a lot like choosing a tattoo. You want to be very particular because each is mostly permanent. With that in mind, the name D’Brickashaw has officially been shot down like a Scud. While we both agree that Brick and Shaw are worthy nicknames; that alone is not enough to keep the name in the running. 1,400 miles away, my mother is letting out a sigh of relief. (Although I am not counting it out as a middle name)

This past weekend we went out for an upscale dinner and followed that with a trip to the beach. We brought along a blanket and our respective lists of baby names. It was time to compare notes. We volleyed a few suggestions back and forth before the first official rejection was handed out.

Tracy offered the name Claire and I immediately broke into The Breakfast Club dialogue. “Claire?! … It’s a family name….No. It’s a fat girl’s name…Thank you…” (and so on). I loved The Breakfast Club but I don’t want my child to remind me of Molly Ringwald. Or Emilio Estevez for that matter.

Tracy had similar feelings about the name Fletch. And while we both adored The Negotiator, my recommendation of Samuel L. Medwid was also put on the “probably not” list.

After 45 minutes on the beach, which was all our 2 quarters, a dime and a nickel would allow for in the meter, we are still without a name. But we feel we have made significant progress. We each have some suggestions for the other to mill over and then we have proposed to reconvene to see if we can agree on something. For now, we’ll have to stick with Sally/Dennis/Zoe/D’Brickashaw/Elizabeth.