The name game

I'm 6 weeks away from the official end of this pregnancy, which is 40 weeks. I'll likely be having a c-section in 5 weeks, unless I go into labor on my own beforehand and the baby is in the right position...which, with my luck, will not happen. So 5 weeks to go until I'm the mother of 2. Under two years of age. When did this REALLY hit me? Yesterday afternoon, on the highway, driving to the library with my son. I had a bit of a panic attack, actually, at the thought of being trapped in the house responsible for 2 little lives. How the hell do women with 2 under 2 do this? How am I supposed to share the love? How am I supposed to keep my sanity intact? Well, it's not like I'm uber-stable now, but still - how am I to be assured I won't turn into Sybil? I asked my mom how you're supposed to love the second as much as you love the first. I don't think it's possible. She told me that you always love all of your kids, but you love them differently. You never have the same feelings for second, third, etc. children as you do for your first, but the love is there, and your heart inevitably grows. Being a second child myself, I'm not sure how much I like that!

Then there's the issue with the name. I'm over wanting to use a boy's name. So over it, in fact, that I'll happily disclose with you the name we were thinking. Ready? Drum roll, please....
Eliot. But spelled E-L-L-I-O-T-T-E for the sake of femininity. My husband loves it, still wants the baby to be named Elliotte. Me, not so much. I keep going back to my original name choice. Any time I attempt to "talk" to the fetus, comes to my mind - she just "feels" like a to me. Hubs hates this name. Thinks it sounds old. Know what? I don't care. Our son's middle name is after the Hubs' father. I think I should get the chance to choose this one's name. I'm carrying this baby, for Christ's sake. I'm the one who got fat, who threw up, who cracked a rib, whose other ribs feel as though they're going to shatter into a zillion pieces from the damn fetus foot lodged in there, who can't sleep...the list goes on. Get my drift? So where does that leave us?

BTW - I've taught my son the name that I've chosen - he said it for the first time today, and it sounded SO cute.

Perhaps I should create a new poll. Leave it to you, dear readers, to choose how to rectify this situation. Those of you who know the names I've chosen are with me on this one, with the exception of one person. If you feel like it, rock the vote.

In conclusion? Stretch marks are ugly sons-of-bitches. Didn't get any with baby boy. This time, they're big and bright and right in the front. Ugh. My stomach would qualify as something to be used to administer the Rorschach Inkblot Test.