The Other Half was pregnant, and we were excited about the new baby coming. Like all expectant parents, we had that running conversation that gets dropped, then picked back up uncountable times over the course of nine months: What do we name our child?
Picture the scene: The Boy Child (eleven years old at the time) was up for the weekend. We were all hanging out in the pool, and Other Half and I picked up said conversation once again, just playing a sort of verbal tennis, lobbing suggested names back and forth. She wasn't even showing yet - we had no idea if we were going to have a son or daughter at this time.
As we're bouncing names off each other, out of the blue Boy Child hollers out "Steve!"
Boy Child: Steve. For the baby. Steeeeeve!!!
Me: Son, you do realize we're talking about names for girls, right?
Boy Child (Big, mischievous grin plastered on his face): Uh huh. STEEEEEEEEEVVVE!!!!
At which point, I called him some silly name or other, then picked him up and threw him toward deeper water. Good thing we were in the pool, eh?
From that point on, no matter what name mama and I were thinking of, to The Boy Child, his soon-to-be brother or sister's name was already Steve. Even when we found out we were having a girl, he insisted on referring to his expected sister as Steve.
Even now, after she's been in the world for over a year and a half (Wow! Has it been that long already?), I think he may have referred to her by her actual name once or twice.
She's simply "Steve" to him.
And you know what? I hope she always will be. It's their thing, and I really hope they can hold onto it for life.
|Their first meeting.|