We still don't have a name for the baby. I mean, we still haven't deliberated on one because I already have one (the secret one because there's a good chance we'd end up going with that name; Marguerite seemed to like it and then immediately forgot all about it), Marguerite has one (Diego, as you know, but it's not happening) and Mark periodically tosses out a rock n' roll name at me just to get my goat:
Mark (out of the blue): I have a great idea for a name!
Me (excited and curious): What?
Mark (gleefully): Jimmy Page Goze!
Mark (2 days later): I have another idea for a name!
Me (the sucker who hasn't learned yet - so just as excitedly): What?
Mark: Jimmy Hendrix Goze!
Mark (a few days later): Now I really know what to name the baby, and I know you'll love it.
Me (had learned her lesson, but still asked anyway): What?
Mark (positively chortling): Slash Goze!
Harhar. He knew how much I wasn't into Guns n' Roses or Slash's Snakepit or Velvet Revolver or any other band Slash might have been in.
Anyway, I think Mark has this idea that 18 years from now, our kid will enter the UP College of Fine Arts with Led Zeppelin Santos, Purple Haze Cruz, Jim Morrison Gomez, etc. (names all made up by me - sorry if your name is actually one of these). Except that I know he's really just joking. Or I think I do.