I'll race ya!

So as I mentioned last post, I was visiting Brother and California Sister-In-Law (I'm gonna call her "CSIL" because typing is hard) this weekend.

(For those who are wondering: no, I have not quite recovered from the Dairy Debacle of 2014.  Getting there.  But this post is not about that.)

CSIL just started trying to conceive and after subtly testing the waters ("CSIL, would you like a drink?  Yes, you would?  Aaaaaalllllright then.") and then feeling like a jerk for being relieved that she is not yet doing the prongo congo, I struck up a conversation about baby names.

Because baby names are fun!  And we have talked about them before!  And Husband and I, in our obsession (ok, fine, my obsession), came up with a second name we love for each gender in case of twins (when it rains, it pours, right?).  So I thought it would be a fun, "Hey, look, we can totally talk about some baby things together without me being a super-downer all the time!"

Nope.

Even though she has told me her baby names in the past, apparently since she started trying For Serious she no longer wants to discuss it.  She doesn't want to hear mine and she won't tell me hers.

Why not?

Because if they're the same, "it'll be awkward" (her words) because they're not changing their minds and they don't want us to be mad at them when the baby pops out and they give him or her a name that we  wanted.  So, basically, when it comes to names she thinks I might want, she's prepared to race me for them.

Well, FREAKING GREAT.  I would love to race you, CSIL.  Your period comes like freaking clockwork and your uterus had never flipped you off with any kind of weird symptoms.  Let's totally race.  Oh, what's that, you got pregnant in the middle of that sentence and it's quadruplets and you're going to use all of my names?  I'm thrilled.

Seriously, though.  She could have just told me her names.  I am not a danger to her.  In fact, if we were thinking of the same name, I would have withdrawn immediately.  I wasn't even going to TRY to fight her, because I know what a gimp I am.

This is what a race between us would look like:  The gun goes off.  I shoot out of the gate, immediately trip on my own feet, and fall flat on my face.  Embarrassed, I get up, run really fast, smack into something, realize that it's the starting gate and that I'm running in the exact opposite direction that I'm supposed to be, and then collapse on the ground and sob for a while.  CSIL takes a casual drink of water.  I finally push my emotions down, start staggering down the track again, and then suddenly go blind.  As I get down on all fours and try to feel my way towards the finish line (spoiler alert: I am not even close), CSIL finally enters the race.  She jogs easily past me, crosses the finish line, and then wipes her brow even though her forehead is not even so much as GLISTENING from exertion.  She gets a trophy.  I am crying again.  All of her children get beautiful names and I am stuck with the names Toiletface and Trashchild.  They are not even real children; just some sticks I found and decided to love.  Some people wonder whether I think they are real children on account of the fact that I am STILL BLIND, but no one feels comfortable asking.  Gradually I lose all of my friends and acquaintances, flunk out of law school, and get really smelly.

That's how I feel right now.

But since she won't tell me her names, I'm going to stick with mine.  And if she gets pregnant and gives birth and bestows upon the fruit of her loins one of MY names, then I will consider that my child.  Win-win.  Free child.  That's what I call problem solved.