It had been one of those perfect nights, when you and your partner just “click”.
My husband and I had enjoyed a special date night – complete with romantic dinner, plenty of laughs and a moonlight walk along the beach.
We were happy, connected, and content. There had been no bickering or rush or stress that night.
And now, we were in bed, in that blissful state where you are drowsy and half-asleep, but still able to hold up a conversation. In fact, I’ve often found that the best conversations tend to happen while in that state.
My husband was half asleep too, with his hand over my growing belly. I was six months pregnant with our first child – a much-wanted son – and we couldn’t have been happier.
Except for one thing: a name.
Just as an FYI, you should know that this post is sponsored by Sealy Posturepedic. But all opinions expressed by the author are 100% authentic and written in their own words.
You see, we just couldn’t agree. There we were, six months into the pregnancy, with not even some back-up names up our sleeve. We just seemed to have wildly different tastes in names and to be honest, we’d actually had some pretty big fights over it before this (I’m blaming my pregnancy hormones).
I’d always had the belief that if you are the one growing a small human and then birthing it, then you get dibs on the name. After all, I was going through all the morning sickness, the varicose veins and the labour, right? The least my husband could do was hand over naming rights.
But it turned out he had some really strong opinions.
He wanted to name our baby boy after his grandfather, who had fought for Australia in the war.
That’s right – he wanted to call our son Edmund. And while I thought it was a beautiful idea, I was not having a son called Edmund. Hence the fights.
So when my partner started murmuring about baby names, I braced myself. Here we go again, I thought.