Shoved to Them
When I was pregnant with #4, I was pretty sure she was a girl. In fact, the day the test was positive I told the Computer Guy, “I’m pregnant. It’s a girl. Her name is #4.” Just like that. Even the ultrasound guy with his less than confident, “I’m 70% sure it’s not a boy.” was not enough to shake my confidence. Until I went into labor.
Then I panicked. I was a few hours from having a baby that might be a boy because 70% sure it’s not a boy is way different from 100% sure it’s a girl. See what I mean? And if the baby was a boy he had no name except #4, and what kind of name is #4 for a boy?
We debated boys names for about an hour, me frantically and the Computer Guy in his half-interested my-wife-has-lost-her-mind way. We agreed on nothing. Then I got a brainstorm to let the television pick a name for us. (What? You don’t name your babies this way?) My brilliant idea was that he would push the up channel on the remote until I said stop and we would name him the first boy name we heard. Simple.
On the first time, I let it flip through all the channels twice only to stop on the movie Horatio Hornblower. Horatio. Um, no. Let’s give it another whirl.
Second try, PBS’s biography of Horatio Nelson Jackson, the first guy to drive across the United States. Horatio again. No. I did tell my sweet husband that if we hit another Horatio that I would take it as a sign that that was his name and the discussion would be over.
Third time’s the charm and we landed on CSI:Miami. Yup, good old Horatio Caine sealed the deal. Our son Horatio.
The nurse came in and asked if we had baby names picked out and I piped up, “Yes. #4 for a girl and Horatio for a boy.” The Computer Guy rolled his eyes and looked pained.
She was a girl, of course, our own sweet #4. But every time I tell that story I can just picture God and Gabriel and Michael and all the rest hanging out on a couch watching us and Gabriel calling out, “Hey, Mikey, double or nothing I can make her hit it again.”
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