Rule # 12: Namely, Mystery Beats Sarcasm

You have survived the years worth of badgering over when you were going to ever have children and provide your family with the all-important grandchildren & heirs to the family-name throne (for however much or little that really is worth). You've battled through the barrage of stereo-typical questions(and by stereo dash typical I mean the questions everyone asks you so many times you think you're listening to a CD on your stereo on "Repeat One" mode for eternity)involving your gestation, due date, and sexxxxxxx, baby. Oops, sorry. I meant sex of the baby. My bad.

And you found out the sex because a) it's the 21st century and that's pretty easy info to come by these days, b) you felt as if you could be better prepared for the little one and c) you just wanted to shut everyone the hell up for a change (circa Rule # 6). If you're like me, you found out you're having a girl. And you were surprised because for the last eight years of your life, the trustworthy necklace tests have told you nothing but boys boys boys. And boys and boys.

Filthy lyin' necklace test. Threw me off. Good thing I did find out now because I was NOT ready to have a daughter! But no worries, because I am honestly excited. At least for years 1 through pre-tween. ;)

Anyways, I'm sure you've figured out that the questions aren't over. People are prepared for this one, too, you know. Next one up their sleeve?

Oh, how sweet. Have any names picked out yet?

Damnit.

Here's the thing about names: everyone's got different tastes. That's why I've got a baby book with over 100,000 names, about five of which I really truly like enough to mull over. Naming someone is a HUGE responsibility. I mean, you're in charge of assigning a word to someone that will be used to refer to her for the REST OF HER LIFE. When that word is said, it will represent her. So it better be damn cool, unique, beautiful, intelligent, radiant, creative, passionate, and awe-inspiring...because it has to fit her. And she will be all of those things. At least that I am certain about.

So I feel enough pressure--as delivered by myself--to choose a flippin' fantastic word to call my daughter after I deliver her. I do not need every living person who crosses my path to ask about my choices in the hopes of throwing in their two cents.

Perhaps I should charge. If you want to know my choices, that will be two cents, please. All proceeds benefit the Unnamed Reeder Child College & Future Wedding Foundation.

My Good Pregnant Woman advice: play confused, frustrated, overwhelmed, or mysterious. Whatever you do, do NOT divulge your REAL choices. And if you do actually have one name picked out, guard it like a horny dog guards that stuffed animal he has made his hump slave.

If you tell people your choice or possible choices, they will ruin them for you. They'll know someone who knows someone who knows someone by that name who turned out to be a serial killer. Or psychotic schizophrenic bipolar multiple personality. Or different species, like a hairless chihuahua. Then they'll also feel the need to offer you MORE possibilities to consider, and THEN you'll have to pretend you like what they say, even if you don't, and even if they tsk-tsked over your favorite when you told them. Don't do this to yourself. Because you won't have patience to pretend, and you'll hurt their feelings, and then you have to take precious pregnant minutes to feel guilty about being bitchy, and you'll waste enough time on that every time you go to Babies R Us and a sixteen-year-old trainee can't figure out how to ring up your crib purchase for a half hour. (Wow, what a specific example, you may be thinking. Real life, people. Real life.)

If you don't just pretend to not have it narrowed down yet or to like so many names you couldn't possibly share them all anyway, you'll end up being sarcastic. People will ask you what you're considering and you'll say, "Noname," or "Abba," or "Shithead," with the most serious and loving tone you can muster. By the way, I know for a fact two out of three of those have appeared on birth certificates here in America. And they aren't dancing queens, either.

While sarcasm will amuse you and your friends endlessly, it's Bad Pregnant Woman form to really do this to good-intentioned albeit annoying aquaintances. So get used to squeezing those shoulders up toward your neck in that helpless signal kind of way. And keep a pen and paper handy.

You'll want to keep track of all of the names people offer you, since they'll be on your Epic Failure list forever.