We never had any doubts in the name department. Archer was Archer.
Or Colette, had he been a girl. Names were easy. We didn't struggle at
all with finding one we both liked because there was ONE name we both
liked: Archer.
Everyone I know seems to be pregnant right now. And by everyone I mean everyone
which is great fun for me, because I'm obsessed with the whole process
of baby names. If I could I would be a professional baby-namer. I stare
into the swollen bellies of friends and "How about Lexington! Or
Cyprus!" And if it's a girl? She should be Avalon!"
Baby-naming is a funny thing, a blind process that may or may not
determine the fate of one's future offspring. Future parents must think
about these things. Daisy is adorable for a six-year-old but what if
she grows up to become a power-trader or a physician? Dr. Daisy may not
be as taken seriously as Dr. Elizabeth. Or maybe I'm just projecting.
I was born Rebecca but went through an evolution of short-names and
nicknames before I grew into it: Reba. Becca. Bec. Bex. Bexclamation.
(Never was a Becky. Becky wasn't my bag.)
I digress... Archer was agreeable because of its strength and adaptability. Archer could easily go the rock-star route a la Archer Prewitt
or the the Physicist route a la my father and brother. He could also
comfortably become a beat poet, a lawyer, a computer programmer or if
he so desired, a shoe salesman at Barneys.
And even though Archer is a total "Archer," these days he looks
more like a Felix to me. A name I would have never thought to suggest
while pregnant but now that I know him quite well...
(Tell me this child doesn't look like a Felix to you...)
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