Ever since we decided on a name for our second son, I've had the Oscar Mayer bologna song stuck in my head. Because I am THAT COOL.
Whenever I tell someone his name, I bite my tongue in order to keep from singing the letters to them. It's quite troublesome, and not just because that song is annoying, but because our son's name is so classic and noble and sweet.
This little boy, to be born any day, is named Henry Christian Conner.
Oh, I love him so much. Little Henry.
Dan and I had a TERRIBLE time coming up with a boy-name. I suggested about 20, all of which Dan reacted to viscerally. Facial expressions as if I'd stuck a rancid, moldy sock under his nose. This was not without precedent, and is, in fact, how we named all of our children: I suggested names, Dan said "no," 6 months later Dan came around on one of the names I liked, et voila! Madeline and Sam.
But our method wasn't working this time. Dan was not coming around. And so, it was Dan who eventually suggested Henry. That's why I love it so much, because my husband named this son; it's the most beautiful thing in the world to me.
I think Hank Aaron was what did it for Dan.
We'd tossed 'Henry' around frivolously in conversation, then one day, Dan marched into the room and announced, "WE COULD NAME HIM HENRY AARON - AND CALL HIM HANK," as if he'd just been struck by a bolt of lightening.
It was a Eureka! moment. And in that moment, Dan claimed this little man-child for the world of sports, and there was no turning back. He is looking forward to the day he can sit in the stands and yell things at "Hank."
His mother will cheer for "Henry."
When we told Madeline that her little brother was named "Henry Christian Conner," she dropped her jaw in disbelief:
Yes, darling, that's how this sibling thing works. ( Though to be fair, that's exactly how we felt for the first few months of his life.) Madeline has called him HenryChristianConner (no spaces) ever since. One day she will sit in the stands cheering for HenryChristianConner.
So it's official, and I can't stop singing it: "Our baby has a first name; it's H-E-N-R-Y!"
And I can't wait to get my hands on him. I can not wait to whisper his own name into his tiny ear:
I can't wait to press my nose right up against his teeny nose and whisper,
"It's nice to meet you, Henry. I've loved so much for so long already, Henry. You are my tiniest boy, and I am your Mom, Henry. Little boys love their mommas; they need their mommas, and I am so happy that I got to be your momma, Henry."
I am so, so glad.