Meatball, what's your real name? I am DYING to know. This morning I cut through Macy's -- not to shop, I swear-- but to keep my hands from freezing and I saw the perfect little silver necklaces with initials on them. They were 50% off. I have an "S" necklace for Sadie. I thought, "Perfect! I'll get one for Meatball." But, wait. We aren't sure what name we love yet. I looked at all the letters hoping for inspiration and reminding myself I could probably find one of these necklaces in February when the name has been chosen.
I didn't realize we were going to go all Milton about this. I remember reading Paradise Lost in college (with 500 of my closest classmates at large agri-college) and reading about how God asked Adam named the beasts in Paradise. As I recall the process this many years later (about 20, but who's counting), I remember the names emanated from the creatures and Adam realized he already knew the names even though he had never seen many of the creatures before. (Wait, should we name you Milton? My beloved judge for whom I clerked is named Milton. What about Adam? We probably can't do Adam as I have a very close friend who's 14-month old son is also named Adam. Damn. Another dead end.)
So, Baby Meatball, do you just need us to draw it out of you? May I remind you that first you have to be drawn out of me? The phrase "sprung from my loins" is suddently in my head right now, and that's not disturbing at all.
All I am saying is the tardy selection of a name is frustrating my monnogramming impulses and preventing me from buying jewelry with your initial on it.
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