has been made. Well, kind of.
Some lovely friends of mine have confirmed Dave's desire to wait until we meet Scooter to name her. He wants to see what she looks like, or rather, "who" she looks like. I think it's sweet, but I am so part of the other camp. (Really, are there even camps for this?)
I think babies all come out looking like cottage-cheese covered aliens. Don't get me wrong, I think childbirth is a miracle straight from the hand of God, and yes I cry watching A Baby Story (especially these days). I just think that newborns look like little pink old men with swollen faces. I can't imagine myself being like, "Oh! Her name is Myla!" right then. I just figured that if we named Scooter, we could call her by name for a while, and when she shows up, that's who she will be.
But alas, I love my husband. If it weren't for him, we wouldn't be having this little tyke. (That is true on so many levels). Recently, many have told me that they just knew when they saw their baby what his/her name should be. And I don't think those people are crazies.
So, we are waiting until d-day! BUT, Myla and Rory are the only names allowed on the table. That way I won't get too overwhelmed. Also, I should probably remind everyone that I do love my child. She has been swimming around in here for a while now, so I think we are pretty tight.
But thanks for all the votes! I keep reading them, because they make me smile.
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