Well, I learned something about my baby. He doesn't like being squished.
We have a tempurpedic bed at home. With that kind of bed, I can lie down
on my stomach and not squish the baby. The bed forms around my belly,
and he still has plenty of room.
Our first night away from home during our Thanksgiving vacation, I
rolled over onto my stomach and Baby started kicking the shit out of me.
I was mostly asleep when this happened and immediately woke up
laughing. I could just picture him in there, banging on my belly,
yelling, "MOOOOM! You're squishing me!!" Poor kidlet.
During our trip, we also discussed baby names with our families. At the
top of Bob's list, is his name. Bob isn't his real name. Really, his
name is not quite that easy. He's a junior. And Bob is pushing for a
third. I am not. I do not want a third. Plus, our baby girl name is a
play on Bob's middle name. I don't want a third, because then we
wouldn't be able to use our girl name (should we ever have a girl).
At the top of my list is Charles David. And we'd call him Charlie. In
fact, I already do. I refer to him as Charlie when I talk to people.
When I talk to him, I call him Charlie. It's kinda stuck in my mind.
When Bob was born, his mother was against having a junior. In fact, his
original birth certificate had an entirely different name on it. But
then his dad begged, his mom relented, and so Bob ended up a junior (as the story goes). As
I've told his mom (and the rest of the family), I'll be way more of a
bitch than she was. I will not have a third. I will not give in during
the 11th hour. I will not change my child's birth certificate once it's
signed.
So. Charles David. Charlie. My Charlie Bear. It's what I'm pulling for.
Let's hope it happens. Because we all know, when Mama ain't happy, ain't
nobody happy.
