Back when I thought we would never have any more babies, Matt asked me "If we do, and if he's a boy, can I name him?" And I laughed a snarky laugh and said "Yeah, sure" because the thought seemed so ridiculous. Measures had been taken. Two weeks later, we found out I was pregnant. A few months after that, we found out he was a boy. Matthew was thrilled - no need to consult me at all! He had ultimate power! Any name he wanted! But what he didn't count on was this Flaco. This son of ours had his own ideas. Having heard Matthew once read through a list of names, he latched onto one, and decided that was it. Matthew said "Flaco, we don't know that. I haven't named him yet." Flaco appeased him; took to calling the baby Guac.
We thought it was over; Matthew's confidence in his right to name the baby was restored. But then, the other day, Flaco climbed up next to me on the couch and started talking to the baby. "Guac, you are a good little boy" he said. "I'm going to play ball with you, Guac. We're going to play fútbol." I listened and smiled. Then he turned to me and said "You know the baby, yes?" Yes, I said. I guess I do. "And I know him too. But papá doesn't know him yet. That's why he doesn't know his name is _______."
He turned back to my belly and stuck his chin way out and spoke in his whispy, high-pitched voice. "I love you, _______. I love you."
All I can say is poor Matthew. What do you even say to that?
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