hola, isabel

We have two lists on our kitchen counter.  The first list’s heading says, “The Summer of Fun” and the second list’s heading says, “Things to do before the baby is born”.  The lists are of equal importance.  We’ve been crossing things off both lists like crazy these last few weeks.

The main thing that we’d like to get done before I pop out this kid is to finish our back deck.  We’ve spent the last few summers trying to get our yard in order so that we can, at some point, actually enjoy it.  We figure this might be our last summer for a while to work on it hard core.  We pretty much finished up the front yard earlier this summer and have been focused on our back yard.  And by “back yard”, I totally mean “the dirt hill behind our house that will never be considered a yard!”

After much thought we decided the best (and possibly only) way to utilize the mound of dirt behind our house would be to turn it into one huge deck with multiple levels.  Yep, our back yard won’t have a single blade of grass.  This is actually a great plan because we’ll be able to throw send the boys out on the deck to play and we won’t have to worry about them.  Especially once the fence in finished.

If you’re new to my life blog then you might not know that The King is the epitome of a hard worker.  He lives for work.  He thrives on work.  He, pretty much, just basically enjoys hard labor.

(Don’t worry, you aren’t the only one confused at how he and I wound up together.)

What I’m saying is that The King has planned to do all of this work himself.  You know, while working a full time job, being a husband and father and donating his time to our church.  This whole deck business is huge and The King can’t physically do all of it in the amount of time we have left.

Enter me.  His pregnant wife.  (And maybe some others.)

The plan for the deck is to have it be three levels.  The first level starting at our back door and the subsequent levels going up to the back alley.  The first level of deck was completed last summer, as well as the framing for the second level.  Each level is to be divided by a gabion wall.  (Have you ever seen a gabion? They are pretty cool and you should check them out.)  Anyway, I think the average person hires someone to come in and put together the wire gabion baskets and then hires someone else to come in with a backhoe and fill each basket with rocks.

We’re not “average”.

And so The King and I (and a few friends, who we’ve happily paid) have spent the last few months taking rocks from a pile of rocks we bought and had delivered and dumping them into the gabions.

By just looking at the gabions you might not think they have that many rocks in them.  If you think that…YOU WOULD BE WRONG.

There are a lot of darn rocks.  Lots and lots.

Take my word for it.

At this point in the project we were all “we should just look into paying someone to finish the second level.”  We hemmed and hawed and finally decided to fork over the cash to pay someone else to do something that we could do, but just didn’t have the time to do.

The second level was finished in two days.  It would have taken The King a few weeks of evening and Saturday work to get it done.

It might have been the best money we’ve ever spent.  It looks beautiful!

Level three will be a flat area filled with gravel for the time being.  Next summer The King will build a shed and a sauna with a shower area.  (I know you want to come and stay at my house, right?!)  The third level will have to wait until next summer.  Sad, but true.

Another thing of our list of “Things to do before the baby is born” is for me to sand down all of our teak deck furniture (that we bought a few years ago AT A SUPER DISCOUNT) and have The King restain it (I probably shouldn’t be messing with stain and paint at this point in my life).

It isn’t the fastest task, but it’s going good.  So far I’ve sanded two chairs and one chaise lounge chair (and half of the other).

Our new table umbrella was delivered last week (thanks Overstock.com) and we’ve managed to eat dinner outside EVERY SINGLE NIGHT since its arrival.

The fence should be going up soon.  SOON!  The pile of unused wood will be sold online soon.  SOON!  And the deck will be finished.  FINISHED!

Then we’ll be able to cross it off the list of “Things to do before the baby is born”.

Speaking of the list, I crossed something else off the list on Sunday evening:

“finish boys room”

Yep, the wall art has been updated (with super cute pictures of old pirate ships) and….

…new curtains have been sewed by ME, WHO DOES NOT KNOW HOW TO SEW.

(The “before” pic of the fabric and the existing sheer curtain that will go behind the new curtains.)

And the “after” of the curtains, all sewn and hung up on the rod.

What was The King doing while I was cutting fabric and cursing my sewing machine?

He was working on crossing something off the “Summer of Fun” list:

“Climb to the VERY TIP OF MT. RAINIER“

(He’s been training to do this for a while.)

Thankfully he (and the guys he climbed with) was safe.

And thankfully I didn’t go into labor while he was gone, thus cursing me to naming my child something like “Rainier” or “Muir” in honor of giving birth while my husband was on the mountain.

Next up; crossing even more things off the “Summer of Fun” list!

I have boundaries.  Let’s just put that out there right at the start.

There are some topics that I think are just too personal to talk to anyone about i.e.: the details of my sex life.  There are other topics that I’ll share with almost anyone i.e.: I’ve had multiple colonoscopies.

I’m totally okay with strangers seeing me completely naked, but I’d never go to a nude beach with a good friend or family member.  I’d use the bathroom with The King in the room, but there is no one in this world that I’d even discuss bathroom topics with.  (Except with my colon/rectal doctor, of course!)   I don’t want to discuss my multiple miscarriages with friends IRL, but I’ll discuss the details of my first marriage and subsequent divorce.

After telling our families about this latest pregnancy I found I have a boundary I didn’t know I had.  I’ll confirm that I had a doctor’s appointment, but I won’t discuss details of said appointment.

I discovered this very real boundary the Saturday morning after my Friday afternoon doctor’s appointment.  At right about nine in the morning The King’s mom called, “just to see how you guys are”.  After a few minutes of chit chat I realized the real reason she called was “to find out everything the doctor had to say about your pregnancy.”  I gave her some vague details and got off the phone.  No less then three minutes later the phone rang again. This time it was my mom.  Crazy as it sounds she was calling “just to see how you guys are”.  By this time I was wise to what that meant.  My mom, being the mother and registered nurse she is, also wanted all the gory details of what my doctor had to say.

I paused for a second and then said something that I wish I would have learned to say years ago, “Mom, I’m really not comfortable discussing this with you.”

And then she paused.

“I understand.  Please share what you’re comfortable with during the remainder of the pregnancy.”

So I quit telling our moms what day I had doctors appointments on.  I figured they couldn’t ask about something they didn’t know about.  (Duh, why didn’t I think of this in the first place?)

My mom’s been pretty good about sticking to her word and not asking.  The only things she continues to ask is, “are you having a VBAC?” and “what day are you having the baby.”  To which I reply, “We haven’t decided yet.”, and “they baby is due on August 18^th.”

I was pretty sure these questions were a means to figuring out what day to book her flight from Utah to Seattle.

Enter another one of my boundaries.

I would prefer that nobody, outside of The King and I, be anywhere near the hospital when I give birth and that nobody, outside of The King, Babboo, Rerun and I, be at my house when we come home from the hospital.

Okay, I know this isn’t the typical feelings new moms have.  I’d figure that about 90% of women don’t agree with my boundaries.  And that’s just fine.  I don’t have any problem with a lady having her mom in the birthing room or helping her learn how to nurse a new baby.  Seriously, NO PROBLEM.

But, for me, I just don’t want my mom around during this time.

And not just my mom, but The Kings mom too.  Pretty much I don’t want anyone around.  At all.

It must be said that I love my mom.  L-O-V-E her.  I love The King’s mom.  I do.  They mean the world to me and I know they want to be involved because they love me and because they love my family.  I know they would just want to help us out and not burden us during this time.

I KNOW this.  I understand this.  I know this is my own issue.  But that’s just it, it’s MY issue and I’m the one (possibly) pushing a kid out of my girl parts.  Because of that I get to draw the boundary lines.

We visited my family over the 4^th of July. The last conversation I had with my mom before getting in our car to drive back to Seattle went something like this; “when should I come out for the birth?”  To which I replied; “I haven’t decided, so please don’t buy any plane tickets yet.”

(Babboo and Grandpa gathering eggs)

On Tuesday, exactly a week after this conversation with my mom, I received an itinerary in my inbox.  I opened it up and learned that my mom and dad will be flying into Seattle on September 2^nd and leaving on September 7^th.  They saw the boundary line, disregarded it, and stepped right into the “no fly” zone.

I stared at my screen, mouth agape, and thought about what I was going to do about this.  I could call and yell at them, but that would only upset them.  I could call and respectfully tell them I was upset, but that wouldn’t solve anything.  I mean, they’d still have the tickets. They’d still be arriving at my house on September 2^nd.

I tried to calm down and breathe a little.  I didn’t want to say or do anything I’d regret later.  I didn’t want to jump to any conclusions about my parents being malicious and pushing my wants and desires away in place of their wants and desires.  I tried to remind myself that my parents love me and just want to be a part of this happy time for my family.

And then I tried to breathe some more.

A little later another e-mail popped up in my inbox. This e-mail came directly from my dad and was addressed to only me and my aunt, who lives about 45 minutes away from me.  It said something like “sorry we didn’t clear the dates with you.  We found a good deal online and didn’t have time to call you and make sure it was okay.  Hopefully you’ll be blessing the baby at church that weekend!”

I’ve bought plenty of plane tickets before.  All of which I’ve bought online. And never, not a single time, was the price going to dramatically change in the amount of time it would take to make one small phone call.

Again, I tried to tell myself they weren’t being malicious.  They LOVE me.

More breathing.

(Grandma loving every minute with her grandkids)

I haven’t talked to either one of my parents since I received their itinerary.  I’m pretty sure my mom knows how upset I was going to be when she did this so she’s avoiding talking to me.  I guess I’ll wait for one of them to call me, at which point I’ll calmly explain to them that they won’t be staying at my house during their stay, and that they won’t be spending their days at my house with the baby.  I’ll also have to tell them that no, we won’t be blessing our (possibly) two week old baby that weekend.  (There is no way I’m taking him to church to get smothered in germs that early in his life.)  I’ll also explain to them that their stay is over Labor Day, which The King gets off work, which means we’ll be utilizing that time, as a family, to be together.

What’s sad is that I know my parents are going to wind up being disappointed.  And that’s their fault.

I have boundaries, especially when it comes to my own little family.

Alright, I know the majority of people aren’t going to see my side on this, or they won’t be able to understand why I feel so strongly about it.  And that’s okay.

But this is how I feel.

And that’s okay too.

And it doesn’t mean I love my parents any less.

For most of my growing up years I spent the summer camping with my family.  My dad is a school teacher, so he had every summer off of work which just gave us more chances to camp.

Most everyone has a different definition of camping.  Here is the definition my family had of camping:

• Sleeping in a trailer.  (We had a family of six and there was a bed for each of us.)
• Cooking every meal in the kitchen of the trailer.
• Storing all food in the trailer fridge.
• Eating meals off of real live plates with real live utensils that are kept in the trailers cupboards and drawers.
• Spending every evening at the trailer kitchen trailer playing card games with the trailer lights on.
• Eating the same meals we would have eaten if we were at home.
• Taking a daily shower in the trailer bathroom and using the toilet as needed.

I know, I know, most people wouldn’t refer to this as camping and I totally understand.

At some point we did buy a little tent.  But we used it to keep our luggage in.  For reals.

My aunt and uncle and their family would usually go camping with us.   Sometimes even my grandma would bring her trailer and meet us.  We would park our trailers next to each other.  We’d take turns riding bikes and ATV’s.  I think maybe once we took a hike ON A PAVED WALKWAY.  While we weren’t roasting marshmallows and sleeping in sleeping bags, we had fun.  I truly enjoyed all the summers we spent up in the mountains with my family.

(circa 1985)

As a teenager I never really thought about why we didn’t sleep in a tent, pee in the woods and cook over a fire.  I knew my mom had no interest in it and I guess I just assumed I’d have no interest in it either.  And so, I never even imagined camping in a tent.

I was only married to my first husband for a year and that summer we were married we went camping with some of his friends one time.  It sucked.  I didn’t like one single minute of it.  I chalked it up to just not liking camping in a tent, just like my mom.  Looking back I think it was more of “I didn’t like my husband or his friends” and not really “I hate camping”.

After that one trip with the ex, I put the idea of camping out of my mind and never thought about it again.  Until last summer when we got invited to go camping with a group of our really good friends.  The King and Babboo were very excited about going camping and so I put a smile on my face and agreed to go with them.

We borrowed a few camping supplies from The King’s parents and bought ourselves a tent and Babboo a sleeping bag.  The King found some awesome mattress thingys at the REI basement and we were set.

We camped for a weekend with three other families.  All together there were five kids and eight adults.  We slept in our tent, kept our food in a cooler, cooked all of our meals over the fire, went without showers, hiked with the kids, participated in our first geocache, and played in the river.

I had a blast.  (Minus the hike and my fear of falling off a cliff.  Or my kid falling off a cliff.)

(Pictures from our hike last weekend.)

We ended up going camping later in the summer with one of the families.  Again, we slept in a tent, cooked over a fire, hiked, geocached, and went sans showers.  And again, I had a blast.

We’ve been waiting all year for another chance to go camping this year.  Last weekend was our first camping trip of the season.  I was a little nervous about going camping while 32 weeks pregnant.  I tried to ignore my nerves and didn’t share them with anyone else.  I figured I was tough enough to handle a few nights sleeping on the ground in the tent.  The King set us up with a blow up mattress and I booked a camp site near the bathroom to accommodate my THREE nightly trips to the toilet.  The King found a hike that we figured was safe enough for me and my huge belly.

I’ll be honest here.  I slept better in the tent then I’ve been sleeping in my own bed at home.  The weather was perfect.  And I didn’t have to use the potty AT ALL during the night.  And the hike?  Well, it was actually just about perfect.

(Woody and Juggernaut didn’t like the hike as much as we did.  Those silly guys got in a fight while the rest of us found a geocache.)

And let’s not forget the food.

Why is it anything cooked over a fire tastes 100% better.  I mean dude, hotdogs cooked over the fire are AWESOME.  Not to mention s’mores or French toast.

The boys did take a bath in the FREEZING water.  (But not us girls!)

Babboo did end up going sans clothes in the lake.  Or rather, NEAR the lake.  It was just too cold for him to actually get in the water.

Before we left for home we did eight geocaches.  It had been way too long since we’d done them.  I forgot how much fun it is to geocache!

On the drive back to our house on Sunday evening The King and I got to talking about tent camping.  I told him that I loved tent camping way more then trailer camping.  We tried to figure out what it was about tent camping that my mom hated.  And what it was about trailer camping that she liked so much.  We couldn’t really figure it out.  Maybe it was because there were four of us kids and so maybe camping in the trailer was easier.  Or maybe she just hates going without a daily shower.  Or maybe she can’t physically squat to pee.  Although I really doubt it’s any of those things.

Maybe she’s just never tent camped and doesn’t know how awesome it is.

This weekend we’ll be visiting my family in Utah.  During this trip I plan on sitting my mom down and getting to the bottom of this.

So tell me, do you prefer tent, trailer, or hotel camping?  And why?

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OH MY GOSH, we’re going to see The Old 97’s tonight.  It’s been almost two years since we last saw them.  We were able to see Rhett Miller in concert when I was about this far along with Babboo, so I think it’s pretty cool that Rerun will get to attend his first Old 97’s concert while in utero too!

An idea for a blog post came to me in a dream a few nights ago.  While I was in my dream I told myself to remember the topic for later.

The topic?

Telling everyone how boy crazy I am.

Apparently I was 14 in my dream. (No really, I was 14 in my dream.) And back then I was pretty boy crazy.  At the time I think I thought that every girl was as boy crazy as I was.  Honestly, I probably thought all the boys were girl crazy too.  Now that just a few years older (hello, 20+ years older) I’m starting to realize that not every girl was that boy crazy.  And definitely none of the boys were girl crazy.  (Although some might have been boy crazy too!)  I literally spent the majority of my teen years looking at boys, talking about boys, giggling about boys, dreaming about boys, reading about boys, and even writing in my journal about boys.

I wasted a lot of those years.

They might not of felt as wasted if I would have actually talked to an actual boy during my Golden Teenage Years.  Or if a boy would have actually talked to me.  But I didn’t. And they for sure didn’t.

My hair looked like THIS, for crying out loud.

(Oh my gosh, remember before this pregnancy when I was skinny?  Yeah, me neither.)*

And I had a snaggle tooth that insured no boy would ever want to kiss me.

You don’t need anymore proof as to why no boys were ever crazy about me.

(Go figure how I ended up with this blue-eyed hottie.)

Anyway, you may or may not remember, but I work with the 12-14 year old girls in my congregation at church.  (We refer to them as “Beehives”.  Odd, I know.)  (But still, Mormons Rule!)  The girls that I spend my Sunday mornings and Wednesday evenings with are super cute.  They hair cute hair and always look nice.  They don’t cover their faces with too much make-up or talk loudly.  They speak kindly about everyone and seem to be sincerely and genuinely nice people.  And they rarely talk about boys.  They don’t chase after the boys in our congregation or show off in front of them.

What I’m saying is they are about 100% the opposite of how I was at their age.

I know they have crushes and think about boys.  In fact every single one of them as told me, in private, that they have a crush on the same specific boy in our congregation.  I don’t blame them. This kid is adorable.  (Think Zac Efron, but with actual athletic talents and high moral standards.)

I’m in on their secret.  I know they all like him.  They don’t even know that they all like him.  They are around him at every church function. And not a single one of them are making a fool of themselves over him.

If it were me I would have been talking loud, so the object of my affection would notice me.  I would have had my bangs ratted as high as I could, so he would see how beautiful I was.  And, of course, I’d have on my best blue eyeshadow and I’d be wearing my best KMart outfit.

The Mormon Version of a Young Zac Efron might not notice my girls at church.  Not yet, at least.  But if they keep up with the way things are going now, I’m quite confident that one of them will date him at some point.  Not like me, who honestly didn’t get any positive attention from any boys at that age.

It makes me wonder if I was an especially dorky 12 year old, or if things have changed in the 20 years since I was in their shoes.   Maybe these girls are exceptional girls.  Especially when compared to me.

I don’t know what it is.

All I know is that I sit back and watch them and wish I’d known what they know at my age.

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*and in totally non related to being boy crazy news, here is my first (and maybe last?) official Belly Shot. 32 weeks.  Only 8 left.    (Although my top isn’t maternity, the slacks clearly are.  And they might be a little too “wide legged” for the look I was going for.)

The high school football coach and his wife dropped by our house one night when I was in junior high school. My dad taught also taught at the school, so naturally my dad, that art teacher and the football coach became friends. (“Naturally” is pushing it. I’m not sure how they became friends.) The coach, his wife, and his family were taking a family vacation the next week. They were taking all five of their kids, except for their one year old. She was going to stay home with her grandparents.

My parents were surprised to see the coach and his lovely wife. They weren’t the type to just drop in. I remember they sat my parents down in our front room and the four of them talked in hushed tones while my siblings and I went about getting ready for bed.

The next day I asked my parents what they were all talking about the night before. My dad told me that they had asked my parents to raise their youngest daughter, if something were to happen to the rest of the family while they were on vacation. My told me that while this was very unlikely to happen, it was a great honor to even be asked.

My parents had already raised most of my dad’s siblings. So what’s one more kid, right?

They whole next week while the family was on vacation I worried about them getting in an accident. I needed to know whether or not I was getting a new sister. My parents had never asked anyone to do this for us, so I thought maybe the coach and wife knew something that we didn’t know. Like they *knew* their plane was going to go down.

Of course nothing happened to the family and I never got a new baby sister. I never forgot about it though. Any time I saw the little girl over the next few years I felt a bond to her because she could have been my sister.

When my oldest brother turned eighteen my parents had to update their will and put him as the guardian of the rest of us, if something were to ever happen to my parents. Before then I think we all just assumed we’d have gone to live with my Aunt D and her family. If a verbal or contractual agreement existed between them, I wasn’t aware of it. We just all knew that’s what would happen.

For the next three years I worried that something would happen to my parents and Biff would raise us. Dear Lord. Not good.

When I turned eighteen I assumed that my parents changed their will again. This time to put me down as the guardian. OF COURSE.

When Babboo was born The King and I tried to decide who we’d want as Babboo’s guardian, if something ever happened to both of us. The King made it clear that if something happened to just him, HE DID NOT WANT ME TO REMARRY. (I gave permission for him to remarry, but he refuses. That’s a story for another day.) So, besides the “do not remarry” statement, we’ve never been able to come up with who we’d want Babboo to be raised by.

(I know I’ve blogged about this before. Bear with me, it’s on my mind again.)

There are so many things to take into consideration:

• Will this family have enough money?
• Will this family had other kids that will mesh well with ours?
• Will this family take Babboo on trips around the world like we plan to?
• Will this family teach him the same morals we would?
• Will this family be LDS and stay active in the church?
• Will this family be around long enough to see Babboo raised to an adult?
• Do we want family to raise Babboo?
• Do we want him to be raised by friends, who are a lot like us?
• Does this family live in Washington or Utah?

The answers to these questions actually rule out quite a few members of both of our families. The last one especially for both of our parents. Neither one of us are too thrilled about either of our siblings taking this role, also for answers to the questions above.

So it seems that a member of one of our families is out.

That leaves friends.

I think that it’s very important that we find friends that will raise Babboo the closest to how The King and I would raise him and still include our families in his life. Again, some of the answers to our questions rule out some of our friends. Plus, The King is pretty sure our parents will not be happy with it not being a member of the family and might even fight it, if needs be.

This topic has started some very serious discussions (and by “discussions” I mean “fights”) between us. So much so that instead of discussing it we just stopped talking about it.

Since Rerun has come into the picture I’m feeing a little more pressure to finally find someone who we both agree on. At this point I’ve told The King, “I don’t care who we pick, let’s just pick someone RIGHT NOW.”

Seriously, I don’t care. I want it taken care of. I just want to make sure that our precious boys don’t end up living in my sister’s basement with her dogs and cat and no other kids around. Or living with The King’s parents, who may only be alive for the next few years. (Hey, you never know with old people!)

We have two little boys to think of now. This is getting serious.

Even with delegating The King to PICK WHOEVER THE HELL HE WANTS, he still hasn’t given me a definite name. I’d love to be able to give this family a little heads up. Or at least ask their permission. (I hadn’t thought before that maybe someone wouldn’t want to take our precious boys. Would someone turn down this offer?)

Logically I know that there isn’t a very high chance that this need will ever arise. I know that. So I’m not sure why this has caused so much grief for the last 4 years.

But dude, let’s choose already.

I’ve always said that one of the hardest things about being pregnant is having to come up with a name for your kid. Naming someone is a huge responsibility. Essentially the name you give your child plays a big role in how they will be perceived for their entire life.

Sidenote: Why do we judge people based on their name? It’s not like we name ourselves. I mean, it’s not Harry Pitts fault he has that name. Blame his parents. (They are idiots. Clearly.)

While pregnant with Babboo (which, for the record, you realize is NOT his real name. Or anything close to his real name. Right?) we took a trip to Europe. We fully intended to spend the trip finding The Perfect Baby Name. We visited a hip store in Paris and The King instantly fell in love with its name.

Too bad we were having a boy. Boy’s names are hard.

We cataloged the girl name we found in Paris and the other girl name that we liked in the back of our minds, thinking we might need them for later.

We didn’t need it for later.

We’re back to choosing another boy name. I wouldn’t think naming a kid could get harder then it was last time. Alas, it can. The King and I feel like we’ve already used The Best Boy Name Ever with Babboo.

Other name we think of with just feels like The SECOND Best Boys Name Ever. We don’t want Rerun (again, not baby #2’s real name) to feel like he got the shaft on his name. But yeah, we’ve already used our top pick of boy’s name.

Even with Babboo we didn’t officially settle on his name until after he was born and we got a good look at him.

We didn’t tell anyone his name until after he was born. We didn’t even hint to anyone about it. Inevitably someone would have said something like “I knew a guy named that in high school that used to kill kittens.” Or my mom would have struggled with pronouncing it through my entire pregnancy.

Even though we never shared the name and made it clear that we weren’t going to share, that didn’t stop our families from offering up their suggestions. I’ll never forget The King’s mom suggesting to me that we name the baby Michael. She told me she’s always loved that name and that The King’s younger sister also loved the name. (If they both loved it so much, why didn’t either of them use it? Yeah, why not?!)

Oh I bet my Mother-in-law about died when she found out that Babboo’s name wasn’t even sort of anything close to Michael. (Bless her heart.)

My mom was so convinced that we would name Babboo after Rhett Miller that she made a little sign for his crib that said “Rhett”. For reals. (The sign also had stickers of monster trucks all over it. Apparently my mom thinks I’m a Rhett Miller stalker that lives somewhere in the south.) Yeah, we didn’t name him Rhett.

And we won’t be naming Rerun “Rhett” either.

My sister e-mailed me earlier this week. It said something like “Are you really going to name the new baby Rerun?”

Dude, AS IF!

So here we are. With no name for our baby boy. And since the pressure is so high we’ve chosen to just not discuss it.

I’m sure we’ll find The Perfect Boy Name II.

In the mean time I’ll pour over Sudoku books instead of baby naming books.

So tell me, am I the only one addicted to Sudoku?

(See how easily I was swayed away from thinking about it?)

(I beg of you to NOT suggest any boy names in the comments. The King and I want to figure it out on our own. We want to provide a good story to tell him how we named him and not “the interweb named you”.)

(Please.)

(Seriously, I will delete all name suggestions. And then I’ll be forced to not even use it. And what if it’s The Perfect Name and you’ve stopped us from using it? You don’t want that on you.)