Megan and Bubby, before he became "Bubby."Wednesday as I ran errands, I called Megan to see how she, Bubby and Preston were doing. They'd been sick -- Bubby had strep -- and I wanted to find out how recovery was going. I also wanted to verify the spelling of the name she and Preston had chosen for Birdy. So I asked. Which was clearly a mistake.

"We've not decided 100 percent that that is the name we're going with, Mom," Megan said. "Why are you getting so psycho about this?"

First let me say that I'm a pretty mellow person. I don't do a lot of yelling, I don't do a lot of freaking out, and I certainly don't go psycho. But because of my relative mellowness (if that's a word), the girls have always and forever considered it "freaking out" if I raise my voice and "going psycho" if I ask too many questions. 'Too many' usually being about three. I'd apparently hit my quota regarding Birdy's real-life name.

I had first asked what names Megan and Preston were considering not long after learning the baby would be a boy. A fairly innocuous question, I thought. Other than grandmotherly inquisitiveness, I was asking simply so I could have a reference point in coming up with a name to call my second grandson on this blog. Bubby was originally nicknamed "Bubby" in real life by Megan and Preston, and I thought there may be some real name followed by a nickname for Baby No. 2, the latter being what I'd use here. Because it was still early in the pregnancy, I gave it little thought when told there wasn't yet one.

The second time I asked was when Megan was experiencing some rather scary pregnancy problems that required lots of prayer. I find prayer to be a little easier, more personal -- seemingly more effective -- when I can put a name to those I'm praying for. So I asked ... and was immediately shut down. So I prayed for "the baby," and the baby turned out just fine.

After that, Megan and I talked now and then about the baby names under consideration. I'd offer up suggestions that fit the parameters they'd set for the name as they crossed my mind. She in turn would tell me a few she and Preston were tossing around. There was one in particular I did not like at all -- and told her so -- and it, fortunately, ended up being the name of the street they've moved to so that name was tossed out the window. Yes, it's not very nice of Grandma to vocalize dislike for a new grandchild's prospective name, but let's just say it was the name of an idiotic actor who thrives on Twitter and makes me nauseous. I couldn't help myself.

Eventually Megan told me the name she and Preston were pretty sure would be given to their newborn -- but I was sworn to secrecy, even to Jim, Brianna and Andrea. Which didn't make sense to me. ("What's the BFD?" is more along the lines of what I was thinking.) But I kept the secret. She did end up telling Jim herself. Brianna and Andrea still don't know. But Bubby does, and it's the name Bubby uses when talking about the brother in Mommy's tummy. So I figured it was a pretty sure thing.

Hence my question regarding spelling, my third and final time that put me over the line and into "psycho" territory. I wanted to know the spelling because I planned to buy the domain name matching the little guy's name before it was nabbed up, as they do have a fairly common last name. I purchased the domain names for everyone else in the family -- including Bubby -- and was trying to stay on top of things with Birdy.

Upon Megan's indignant response and questioning of my sanity because I wondered about the name and the secrecy surrounding it, I shot back at her.

"What's the deal?" I asked. "Ya know what I think it is? I think you're not even pregnant. There is no baby. You just needed an excuse for your weight gain because you're getting fat! Ha!"

I said it with a snicker. I said it in jest. Honest. Obviously, I've seen the ultrasounds, I have no doubt my daughter is pregnant. But because she was being so cussing stupid and secretive silly, I pulled out the big guns and shot them straight at my hyper-weight-sensitive daughter. Using the F-word. The F-word being "FAT".

Yep. That's the classy, grandmotherly way this grandma does things.

Sheesh. Maybe Megan's right. Maybe I really am "getting so psycho."

Today's question:

Have you ever greatly disliked the name given to any of the newer members of your family, immediate or extended?