Dear son,

I’m sorry but you STILL don’t have a name.  Your father and I have yet to agree on a name we both like.  Everyone keeps asking.  I tell them the German in me and the Irish in him are not meeting in the middle.  At all.

We have a few we both like.  But I reeeeally like one. Which of course he despises.
Of course.
He says it sounds ancient. I think it’s totally hipster.  Are we opposites or what?

So, we’re in a deadlock.  Neither one wanting to budge.  You might be one of those children who go home from the hospital nameless because your stubborn parents can’t agree.

Settling on a name is such a big decision.  I would compare it to choosing a mate, getting a tattoo, or deciding which kind of girl scout cookies to buy. Thin Mint or Caramel Delight?  All very important.

The name we end up choosing is forever.  For.ev.er.  It is often the first impression people will have of you.  If you grow up to be a CEO of a major corporation, will people take you seriously in a business meeting if your name is Kermit? (Absolutely no offense to anyone named Kermit, it’s just not my style.)

Not agreeing on your name is just one of the many differences I’ve noticed the second time around. This pregnancy has been very different than when I was pregnant with your sister.

When I was pregnant with Neala, I took pictures of my belly every few weeks.  Regretfully, there are only a few pictures of this pregnancy so far.

When people would ask how far along I was, I always knew.
“I’m 28 weeks and 2 days.”
With you, people ask and, “ummm…well, er….I think I’m in week 27. Or am I in week 30 now? I don’t know, I’m due in May.”

With Neala, I made a scrapbook of my pregnancy.  I documented the whole 9 months.  Aren’t you impressed?  (I’m sure when you are a teenage boy reading this you will be extremely impressed with my scrapbooking skills.) Having never really scrapbooked before, I shocked myself at how much I enjoyed the process.
You don’t have a scrapbook, or a baby book. Any book for that matter.  I guess I can throw my “Mother of the Year” nomination out the window…

I feel it is important to remember when I was pregnant with Neala, I wasn’t chasing a 1 year old around the house.  There was time to sit and scrapbook.  Mornings were spent getting myself ready, eating breakfast at the table, and asking daddy to take a baby bump picture.
Now, my mornings are busy helping daddy with Neala’s breakfast, cleaning up her breakfast, inhaling my breakfast and rushing around to get ready.  That’s after daddy insists I get out of bed because if I don’t I’ll be late for work.

Just in case you are starting to feel as if you got the short end of the stick, let me assure you of a few things.
Your father and I are very excited for your arrival.  We wonder what you will look like. We laugh when we think about how your tiny voice will sound.  When your sister pats and tickles my belly I giggle. How fun it will be to watch the two of you interact!
In the middle of the night, when the house is quiet and nothing is stirring except you, I smile.  You don’t know it’s 1:28 a.m. and you’re kicking the fire out of me. (Ok, sometimes I smile. Other times I groan)  I dream about what you will grow up to be.  I pray for you.

Yesterday I made some pictures for your nursery. I covered canvases with material and they are totally cute. Couldn’t help but think of my daddy when I jumped after I squeezed the staple gun for the first time. If he were here, he would have helped me with this project.  I could hear his voice saying, “Measure twice, cut once.”

A day hasn’t gone by I don’t think of him.  That’s the biggest difference really.  With Neala, your PawPaw was here.  He helped me put her crib together and spray paint letters for her wall.  Then he taught me how to scrape the paint off my lawn table because I didn’t put enough cardboard under the letters.

Even though preparing for you has been bittersweet for me, I am keeping busy with this blog.  I will use this as a way to tell you and Neala stories about your PawPaw. Some of them you probably won’t believe. Whenever we would drive somewhere, he would start every story with, “This one time…”
I can’t wait until you and Neala are riding in the car and I can say, “Did I ever tell you about PawPaw and that one time…?”

Hopefully by then you’ll have a name…