Yesterday, as I loaded the dishwasher, Jack came tearing up to me at a breakneck pace.
Jack (breathlessly): Mom! Did you see me? Did you see how fast I was going?
Me: You were going so fast, I could hardly see you at all. You were just a blur.
Jack: I think I should be called Speedlock because I’m faster than anybody else in the whole world. Don’t you wanna call me Speedlock, Mom?
Me: Ummm…Sure! Now that you mention it.
I pondered the 5 baby name books I bought the day I learned I was pregnant. I remembered racing home with my Barnes & Noble bag and anxiously cracking the first spine. I read the baby naming guides in each. I thought about syllable count and rhythmic beats. I made ever-changing lists, carefully culling anything that might be viewed as effeminate or might prove too difficult for a child learning to spell. I thought of how this child’s name would look on a diploma, a business card, underneath the presidential seal. In short, I devoted a huge amount of time and energy to making sure this boy’s moniker was uniquely and perfectly suited to any endeavor his future might hold. Somehow I overlooked “Living Room Racer.”
That night, as I sang “Rock-a-bye Speedlock” and tucked his ducky blanket under his chin, I realized something. Even if I had called my oldest son Grover or Conway or Biff, his light would still shine and I would still have moments when love wells up so strongly, it feels as if my chest will surely break open from the weight of it. So whether he calls himself Dinosaur Killer or Speedlock or maybe even Jack, I’ll still call him wonderful and thank heaven every day that he’s mine.
Speedlock is so gorgeous! I wonder if it’ll stick?
He’s still using it days later, so we’ll see. Apparently, nicknaming himself is his new pastime. 🙂