What’s in a name? An awful lot it appears… especially if you’re seven months pregnant, don’t know the sex of the baby and have no real idea of what to call it.
Canvassing some outside assistance we appealed to the nieces on the weekend; according to one set of twins our options now seem to include Charlotte and Prancer — from Saddle Club I believe — try explaining that one to the kid when they’re at school “Mummy, why am I called a reindeer name?” The other twins are quite firm in their belief that only babies have names, “It can’t have a name while its still a lump inside, silly!” The silly aunt and uncle retired, suitably chastised.
Nephews had previously proposed Ann and Zac for a girl or a boy respectively, an impressive pun on the due date of (ANZAC day).
Driving home we thought that Reality was a good option, similar in style to a lot of translated African and Asian names that seem to sound slightly odd in English, but open to any number of puns like “You can’t handle Reality…” and “There’s no escape from Reality.”
Boy, Girl, Giraffe? Who knows. Currently known by the temporary name of Marty monster and apparently trying out for early admission to the Socceroos as striker.