By BEC SPARROW
Lord, am I in a world of trouble right now. (Middle class trouble, rather than Greece and rising debt levels trouble … just to, you know, put it in perspective).
This new baby of mine is arriving in a matter of WEEKS and my husband Brad and I cannot agree on a boy’s name.
We’ve got a girl’s name locked and loaded but if this baby is a boy, well, we got nothin’. Nada. Zip.
Okay that’s not entirely true — we have a shortlist of two ‘meh’ names that we’re half-hearted about. Or three if we include Ava’s suggestion that we call the baby “Mr Happy’. (I politely explained that Mr Happy wouldn’t really work and Ava responded by yelling something at me in what sounded like a Scottish accent and stamping away. Excellent.)
We had none of these problems naming Ava, Georgie and Fin. But this time, we simply cannot agree. Naturally I have a few theories as to why finding a boy’s name this time is proving to be so hard.You ready?
1. Brad’s suggestions are stupid.
Oh. Well look at that. So that’s just one reason. Go figure.
But seriously, let me just run past you some of the names Brad has put forward:
1. Parker Robinson. Now, I have nothing against the name Parker. Great name. Great pretzels. But Parker Robinson sounds like a beer. Or a clothing label. Or an accountancy firm. Ba-bow. (Apologies to any readers called Parker Robinson. Please forward your hate emails c/o Jamila Rizvi.)
2. Coby Robinson: Isn’t Coby a character on Packed to the Rafters who IS IN JAIL? Yeah. No.