So my Auntie and Uncle are at My Favorite Mother's house and call us last night. I'd spoken with Uncle but not Auntie since learning that baby's a boy. Auntie raised four boys, and so she's kind of an expert. But once she congratulated us, she asked if we'd thought about names. I said yes, but wouldn't say what they were.

“Brian Johnson, Junior!” she replied.

And so throughout the whole call, no matter if I was talking to her, my Mom, or telling Uncle that our Cold Stone is kosher (he's Jewish), I hear in the background, a Tibetan chant, “Brian Johnson, Junior! Brian Johnson, Junior!” No amount of explaining that “Brian Johnson” is one of the world's most common names, that My Darling Husband receiveds credit cards and “why'd you default on your student loan” phone calls for OTHER Brian Johnsons, would dissuade her.

Kris from the store next door, who's about 10 weeks behind me, pregnancy-wise, told me not to tell anyone what names we're choosing. I have learned this from Anne, whose family was underwhelmed by the name they chose for her son. The Cold Stone store mananger wants to know the name now (I believe she's hand-crafting the baby gift).

“We have four months!” I told her.

“I don't!” she said.

So, we're keeping the name quiet. Rest assured, it will be neither “Apple” nor “Moxie CrimeFighter.”