He Who Must Not Be Named

Sometimes babies are born that don't have names. It's not because those babies are so terrible that no one dare speak their name. It's just because they don't have names yet.  That's all. 

Their mothers don't love them any less, I promise.

After one long month of deliberating between "Baby Brother" and "Crossbow," this little one of ours has finally found his name.

Silas was upset that we didn't pick "Baby Brother" - that or he's been sick for two days and didn't want to get out of his pajamas.  The sun beam shining down on Atticus proves just how angelic he is. Too bad for the rest of the babies out there, they don't get golden rays of light following them around.

For those wanting to know "Why?", I'll tell you.

Atticus after Atticus Finch in Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird, one of my favourite books of all time. He's a lawyer: Jared likes that.  I've always wanted to name a girl Harper, but I've become convinced that I won't ever make a girl, so Atticus climbed the charts instead.  Actually, I had another name that I really really loved, but when it came down to it, this baby just wasn't that name.  As much as I tried, I just couldn't call him that name. Atticus just kept slipping out.  So, I guess you could say he named himself, as I knew he would.  He's super advanced, you know.

Booth (rhymes with smooth) is the name of my grandma's brother, my great grandpa's middle name, and my great-great-great-great grandma's maiden name (she was not only very great, but pretty spectacular also, I'm sure.)  I like family, and family names. 

And that's it.  It took a month. Get over it.  But, feel free to love it!