I Just Need a Sign! Give Me a Dang Sign!

So choosing a name for the baby has proven to be quite a difficult and frustrating task. I, being the Type A person that I am, diligently scoured through 2 different baby name books with a hilighter in one hand and a spiral notebook in the other. Rick, being the complete opposite of Type A, just wanted to go with the flow and pick a name out of thin air the day that baby is born. Are you kidding me? His name suggestions have been entertaining, but come on, there is a lot of pressure in picking the perfect name; it's a huge responsibility, and in my opinion, shouldn't be taken lightly. At least we had no problem deciding on the middle name. We chose it because it's a family name (my paternal grandma's maiden name) and not at all because Rick is secretly in love with Chuck Norris.

We finally got the list narrowed down to roughly five names. We picked a week and used a different name each day of the week to see if any of them stuck. And we made the mistake of sharing our list with others, which only added to the frustration. Just when we thought we had a name selected we would hear negative feedback and criticism, and no matter how much you tell yourselves that we don't care what other people think, we began to realize that maybe we should care what other people think since this child will be stuck with his name for the rest of his life. And so the frustrating process continued.

This morning Rick and I set out for a fun day of shopping in Houston. In the car I told him how stressed out I was about the naming process and how I actually prayed last night for a sign. I mean, I really wanted a name that meant something, a name that stood out, a name that we were both sure was the perfect fit. He listened patiently while I continued to complain that I need a sign and why can't I have a sign and blah, blah, blah.

We didn't have a specific destination in mind, but it was a beautiful day and we wanted to get out and enjoy it. We ventured to Rice Village to walk around and stopped in a gift shop. After browsing around we came across a baby blanket display that featured a blanket ready for monogramming. I, being the ever positive person that I am these days, took the opportunity to again complain about our inability to decide on a name for our baby. Who needs an embroidered baby blanket when you don't have a name to embroider? Should we just go ahead and have "No-Name Boyd" embroidered on it? Well, mid-sentence through my rant I looked up, and there on the wall was a sample of the font selections. The first sample had a cute cartoon baby face in a scribbly little kid font. What name did the sample have on it, you ask?

Harrison Boyd.

Last name and all. And I'm not kidding. Harrison was one of the names on our top 5, so Rick and I looked at each other in shock and got a good laugh out of it. I, being the stubborn person that I am, didn't quite take this as my sign (even though it was literally a sign. Hanging on the wall. In front of a baby blanket.). So 5 minutes later, God gave us another one. As we were leaving the parking lot and pulling up to a red light, the car in front of us had an out of state license plate. What county, you ask?


So, ladies and gentlemen, this ends the story of how we chose the name of our firstborn son. We are now eagerly awaiting the arrival of Mr. Harrison Walker Boyd!


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