People often ask if Steve and I have a name picked out and the short answer is no. Well, we have several names picked out and none of them is a home run with both of us. We are told that once we see the baby we'll just know what we should call it. As big of a procrastinator as I am, I draw the line here and absolutely will not put this off until the last minute especially when hormones and drugs are involved. So we lie in bed at night throwing out whatever comes to mind. Or at dinner. Or riding in the car. I see a word on a sign and say it out loud with our last name. Names are what I hear when I'm watching a football game (and knitting). We went through a couple of baby name books on vacation, but I put them (and our notes in the margins) in a *very safe place* when we got home and immediately forgot where that is. And to further complicate things, we may even deviate from the list of guidelines. Our fallback is Seven, courtesy of a classic episode of Seinfeld.
SUSAN: Seven Costanza? You're serious?
GEORGE: Yeah. It's a beautiful name for a boy or a girl...
GEORGE: ...especially a girl. Or a boy.
SUSAN: I don't think so.
GEORGE: What, you don't like the name?
SUSAN: It's not a name. It's a number.
GEORGE: I know. It's Mickey Mantle's number. So not only is it an all
Around beautiful name, it is also a living tribute.
SUSAN: It's awful. I hate it!
GEORGE: (angry) Well, that's the name!
SUSAN: (also angry) Oh no it is not! No child of mine is ever going to
be named Seven!