Although we've known what our son's name would be since before we were married, Brian and I have been holding off mentioning it on the blog just in case people didn't want to know in advance. Obviously, we've made no secret about the fact that he's a boy, but some (mainly my grandma) don't want to know his name until he's born.
However, since Brian and I have been talking to him and about him with this name for months, we think it's about time we revealed it to the blog-world.
Just don't tell Grandma.
Not long after we got engaged, Brian and I had the "what will we name our kids" conversation. (Yes, we know: we over-plan everything. That's just how we are.) In fact, we scrawled ideas for names on the paper tablecloth at Romano's Macaroni Grill, to be exact.
Ever since that time, we knew exactly what we would name a boy if we ever had one: Jackson Robert. Brian's grandpa is nicknamed Jack, and we both really like the name, but we aren't that crazy about John, and Jack by itself seems too informal. Jackson, however, sounds just right -- he can be Jack to his friends and Jackson if he wants to become the Secretary of Education or win the Nobel Peace Prize or something. Robert was my grandpa's name and I've always wanted to honor him by passing that name along to my child. So, Jackson Robert Fisher seems perfect to us. Even if it does sounds a little like a law firm!
I love knowing in advance what his name will be because it helps give him a unique identity. When we lie in bed at night and watch my belly move around, Brian can say his name to make him kick. I like that Jackson could be born already knowing his name from hearing it from both of his parents so frequently.
We are currently in the process of hanging his name on the wall of the nursery above his crib. This should have been a relatively easy process, but due to a perfect storm of events, we essentially abandoned the task until we (read: I) felt more up to it. Basically, the process triggered my second hormonal meltdown of the pregnancy -- poor Brian made it through two trimesters of emotional stability before I finally succumbed to my swirling hormones last week -- twice -- once over Lamaze breathing and once over hanging the letters. Neither time was very pretty and involved either mournful sobbing or murderous thoughts. My thinking was that neither emotion is that good for the baby to be experiencing with me (my yoga instructor insists that all emotions -- good, bad, or ugly -- are also felt by the baby), so Jackson's wall currently only says "CKS". Hopefully, by May he'll have his full name on the wall.
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