As you may have noticed, fatherhood has taken me away from blogging, but it was remiss of me not to at least dash by to record my son’s name (see Daily Mail article below). People have been asking.
In case you were concerned, he has not waited until now – six weeks old – to get his moniker. The Artist and I finally chose one on Day 2. He is called Joseph. Joseph Eliot McGibbon, to be precise, and I finally got around to registering it today – a few days after the deadline. Even at the crucial, final moment, my pen hovered over the form wanting to alter the middle name (or adding “Flintstone” as a last minute gag to give the wife a laugh.)
Now the long search is over, I’m not sure what all the drama was for really. It seems such a simple name. Why was it so tough? But if choosing wasn’t hard enough, we are now faced with an equally difficult, tedious job: getting people to actually call him by his name.
As much as you say your son is called Joseph, people will insist on calling him anything they fancy: Joe, Joey, Jo-Jo, or even – heaven forbid – Sephie.
I spent six months trying to sort this name thing out and all people want to do is change it. Sorry, did I fail you? Maybe I should have just left it blank. At least then you could all call him what you like, while I spend the rest of my days not having to make a decision.
Oh, and what of fatherhood, I hear you ask? Well, it is, erm, yawn, stretch, utterly amaz-zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz