The Name Game, Part 2

With the impending birth of our next child, who doctors and shamans assure us will be female, time is ticking to pick a name. We hit it out of the park the first time around with Daughter – a name that perfectly describes the fact that she is the female child of parents. As a result, it's tougher the second time. Daughter suggested the following names: Chicken, Lulu Cow, and Lollipop. Those are completely unrealistic choices. Sometimes I don't know about that kid. Daughter #2 and Second Daughter seem like logical choices, but I don't want the newbie to think she's second best or somehow inferior to Daughter. I was leaning towards The Deuce, but then I remembered that's the nickname for the only time I ever clogged (and overflowed) a hotel toilet, which occurred sometime in May 2004 at the Holiday Inn at Merchandise Mart when I was in town for Uter's bachelor party. Apparently, you can't just ask for a plunger at hotel. They have to send someone up with a plumbing snake that, while unclogging the toilet, sprays your own fecal water all over your bathroom floor. Then you have to wait for someone else to come up to bleach and clean the bathroom floor while your friends laugh their asses off. But I digress. Then I was briefly thinking about naming her Number Two, but then I'd always be asking her "Who does Number Two work for?" The Sequel is another option, but again, I don't want to set her up for failure, as most sequels are not as good as the original. Also, people might assume we cloned Daughter. It may be one of those situations where I have to see her before I name her. She may pop out and I might see her and say, "Sweet Jesus, you are definitely a Lollipop."

Daughter is doing great. Thanks for asking. She is developing nicely, slowly but surely earning my trust, respect, and unconditional love. Here are some tidbits about her:
-Her coping mechanisms are still rudimentary.
-Dinosaurs. She can't get enough dinosaurs, whether it's watching that delusional Canadian Dino Dan, reading books about dinosaurs, or playing with toy dinosaurs. What is it with kids and dinosaurs? I haven't had the heart to tell her what happened yet. That's going to be a rough day.
-Thus far, she has openly declared her love for her mother, her grandmothers, toast, yogurt, and two separate stuffed animals at a store, but not her father.
-She handles a samurai sword surprisingly well, but she can't catch a football worth a damn. Go figure.
-Thanks to classic Pavlovian conditioning, she can sing portions of Warrant's "Cherry Pie," George Clinton's "Atomic Dog," Ice Cube's "We Be Clubbin'," Master P's "Make 'Em Say Uhh!," and AC/DC's "Thunderstruck." I'm not sure I could be more proud. Next on the list are: "Born to Run" by Bruce Springsteen, "Up All Night" by Slaughter, and "Rock and Roll All Nite" by Kiss. I guess something by T. Rex, Dinosaur, Jr., or Was (Not Was) might be appropriate as well. At some point, I will video tape these and make a megamix, which should vault her into superstardom.
-We are working on what will become her adorable catchphrase: "You gotta be shittin' me!"
-She can spell just about anything incorrectly.
-She seems to draw most of her comedic influence from the observation-based humor of Tom Green. When she sees a bird on the roof across the street, she says, "Bird on the roof" and laughs. Or when our dog is under our kitchen table, she says, "Harley is under the table" and laughs. Or when there's a piece of corn on the table, she points at it, says "Corn," and laughs. I'm interested to see who becomes her Glenn Humplik and Phil Giroux. I'm just thankful she's not into mimes.