waffling

If I'd been a blogger during my last pregnancy there would have been a lot about names. CD and I knew Oliver was a boy when I was about 12 weeks along, on CD's birthday in September. A week before my due date, in late March, we still had not settled on a name. Finally, we made independent "top ten" lists and compared. Colin and Oliver were the only names that appeared on both of our lists. From there, it was a simple choice. Oliver was not in my top five, but after Henry and Ian, all the names on my list were fairly equal. CD sent his list to me in alphabetical order so I don't know how much he liked it. And he's not telling, probably because I teased so much over a few of his other choices, like Rupert. Today I can't imagine any name other than Oliver for our son. Much as I love Henry, it doesn't suit him.

We agreed that names for girls were easier. In fact, CD threw one out when we began our discussions of boy names. It was within a few syllables of my favorite girl name and I immediately agreed it was a great choice. Last October, when we found out I was having a girl this time, we decided to stick with that name for this baby. CD rejected all of my ideas for middle names but once again made a suggestion that I could live with. Problem solved and I was barely in the second trimester.

Like last time, we have kept the name to ourselves. My sister started calling her Esmerelda so we've gone with that during the pregnancy. Oliver never picked it up though. I ask him occasionally what he would like to call baby sister. Last week his response was "Waffle", followed by "Maple", presumably her middle name. As a three-year resident of the Greylock quad at Williams, I had to laugh. "Waffle" was a verb that had to do with one's view of the ceiling (and we'll just leave it there, thank you). Guess what Oliver had for breakfast that day?

Which leads me to another meaning of "waffle", something toddlers seem to have down to an art form. (I know it's not just Oliver because I read MetroDad.) Oliver's inability to make a decision and then stick with it comes close to sending me over the edge on a regular basis. On more than one occasion this weekend I started to think spending a couple of days in the hospital might be a nice break. I got over those feelings pretty quickly but the thoughts did cross my mind.