Orest or Vladimir or Boris or Chikezie or...

Choosing a name for your child is the greatest decision you will ever make in your entire life.

Let that hyperbole sink in a bit and then come back to the blog.

Back? Good. So obviously it isn't the most important thing, but it's up there. I mean, names define people and, in turn, people can define names. Write Jeeves on the birth certificate and 25 years later he'll be a butler. Include at least 3 apostrophes or a grossly incorrect spelling or something completely made up (I'm looking at you, Beyonce), and there's a pop star. Conversely, you really can't name a child Elvis unless you want them to have an incredible early career ruined by drugs, teen brides, and peanut butter and banana sandwiches. Juniors tend to wear a lot of camouflage and "the third" tend to wear blazers with crests.

So with that in mind, Kristen and I are trying to come up with a name. If Barnabas had been a girl, I was lobbying to Isabel (I've always loved that name). Martha was also considered. For a boy, there was no front runner, though there were a few options bandied about.

We both like Henry. Kristen recently suggested Owen. I lobbed back Leopold. She volleyed a nasty look.

We have time. The due date is nearly five months away, and while it would be nice to say a name when I'm singing to Kristen's stomach, I can stand to wait on personalizing each tune.

If you have suggestions, we'll take them. There are a few that are already definite no's: Cody, Conner, Cole, Caleb... heck, anything with a C. Hunter, Brayden, Wyatt, Ryder, Braxton... You get the idea.

I'm not promising a prize if you're the one who suggests the winning name. This isn't really a contest. Although I suppose you could walk with a little extra swagger knowing that you were the one that made sure our son would not grow up to be Stanley the plumber.