The more I think about stuff, the more important it is for me to get my way about it. But especially with my sister’s baby-naming process.
As mentioned in my previous My Sister’s Pregnant blog, which sort of went viral with its impregnated self, my proposal to insert my name into the “Middle” slot of the birth certificate has been psychotically submitted, with the words “DO THIS (if you know what’s good for your baby’s future)!” on the cover page and lots of footnotes in the shape of actual baby feet. Too aggressive, or just right?
Whatever, me winning this one-person battle is just a matter of my sister and her increasingly burly husband realizing “Jay” is the right decision for all involved, including this mysterious baby person, who would surely cry “Jay!”, if it had a say, and then promptly poop its pants. It’s like I can see the future or something, me asking: “Is someone else going to change that? Uncle Jay just spit up on himself while trying to write a blog about how otherworldly Anonymous Jay’s diaper smells.” Then everyone else rolling their eyes, including the baby. Then us getting offered our own TGIF sitcom…
The future parents have decided not to find out the gender, by the way. Did I already mention that? Well, it’s slowly, methodically torturing my poor mother, who keeps asking me, “So … are they really not going to find out?”, like their decision is a practical joke at her expense. Good call on Mom’s part, that’s just like something my sister would do. But I think this time she’s telling the truth. Or is she?
The boy/girl question mark is completely fine with me, because Jay works pretty much anywhere, period. Boy, girl, Golden Retriever (my preference), you can’t go wrong with that kind of three-letter right. Bridgette Jay. Vanna Jay. Shaniqua Jay. George Jay. Elijah Jay. Rumplestiltskin Jay. The naming possibilities are endless, except when it comes to the middle region, which should be Jay. Do you think I’m getting my point across?
If my brother-in-law is worried about other family members being offended by my higher status and then me rubbing the child’s Social Security Card in their faces, it’s hard for me to care about that. I mean, do these blood relatives have one-syllable names that lend themselves so nicely to being hidden behind a far-more-appealing first name? Doubtin’ it! I can’t think of a better candidate off the top of my head, but then again I’m actually not thinking about it, just pretending for the sake of fairness. That’s all I can do, really.
What do you think? If you feel strongly that the name should be Jay, then DON’T leave a comment. That way, when that area’s as empty as it usually is, I can point to my bro-in-law and say, “See!?”, after deleting this sentence.