Many years ago, we may or may not have engaged in a slightly intoxicated conversation over a game of poker. This gradually came around to the topic of children and names and such. I was sure at the time that if Shelby and I were to have children (I don’t even think we were married yet), they would likely be girls. Fat little girls with cake in their pockets. (He has three brothers who have four daughters between them. Not a single wee-wee in the mix.) Based on this sound knowledge, I may have allowed our friend to be convinced that we would one day name our son Huckleberry Chewbacca. I blame the wine for my lack of better judgment, but you should have seen how happy this theoretical child made her.
Jumping ahead a few years to one strange and fuzzy February morning…. We hesitated on being excited, we made a few appointments, we held our breath. The viability ultrasound confirmed “it’s not a tumor” (Kindergarten Cop anyone?) but that it was in fact new life emerging in all the right places with all the right parts. Which is when we became utterly convinced that we were going to have a baby boy. This is why I choose to refer to the fetus as Huckleberry Chewbacca, Huckle Chewy for short. By doing so, I am fulfilling my promise of allowing this child to be “named” Huckleberry Chewbacca and yet not subjecting it to a life of shame and ridicule. At least not because of the name his totally embarrassing parents assigned.
As soon as our announcement was made, the texts began to fly and I have come to realize that not ALL parties involved in the previously mentioned drunken poker game were as inebriated as I thought they were. Our friends have ludicrously good memories.
“Huckle Chewy – you get in here!”
“How’s little Huckleberry?”
“That’s so exciting! When are you expecting Huckle Chewy to arrive?”
Since his somewhat surprising discovery, Huckle Chewy (or Huckle Chuck as my mom says) has continued to throw little surprises at me almost every day. From the unexpected kick in the gut to the random appearance of morning sickness for one day mid-pregnancy. My energy level waxes and wanes with alarming frequency. Some days I like bananas, some days the thought of another banana or banana flavored thing is enough to send me to the psychiatrist. But the biggest surprise of them all?
Huckle Chewy isn’t a baby boy.