Wherein Birdy is shot down

This is NOT an injured bird, just a baby bird.As many of you know, I call my soon-to-be-born second grandson, brother to Bubby, Birdy. At least here on my blog.

Megan called Friday to chit-chat and, after a bit, she told me that Bubby had chosen a new name for his baby brother. All morning long, she said, Bubby had been calling the baby, for some unknown reason, "Wacky Mac."

"So I was thinking, that's what you could call the baby on your blog, Mom," she said, "instead of Birdy."

"Wacky Mac?" I asked.

"No, you can't call him Wacky Mac. But I was thinking Mac. Since Bubby picked out that name. Instead of Birdy."

I told Megan I couldn't call the baby Mac because I have an Uncle Mac, so that name is already taken. In my mind, at least.

To which my formerly-hesitant-to-hurt-anyone's-feelings-with-her-words-but-now-never-minces-them-ever daughter replied: "But we hate Birdy, Mom! We detest Birdy! Even <friend who reads this blog> asked 'What's up with Birdy?'"

Okay. I get it. Megan hates, no, detests the name Birdy. And because I don't want to write about my grandson in a manner that his mother detests, I hereby cave. Going forward, my second grandson's name — for blogging purposes, at least — will be Mac.

To Megan: Consider it done.

To Uncle Mac: I'm sorry, but you're now in second place in my mind when thinking of Mac. Baby Mac he'll likely be for a while. But still, you're no longer the No. 1 Mac. I'm sorry.

To Birdy: I'm sorry to you, too, for you will no longer be known as Birdy. You will be Mac. Except in secret. A secret we'll keep between us. So if I ever accidentally let the name Birdy slip from my lips to your ears, Baby Mac, please, whatever you do, do not tell your mother. Like I said, it'll be our secret. And it will be the one and only time I ask you to keep a secret from your mom. I promise, Baby Birdy, er, I mean Baby Mac.

Gah! I'll get used to it. I promise.

And I'll love him regardless of name. I promise.

Photo: stock.xchng

Today's question:

What is your favorite macaroni dish? (Sorry, Meg, had to do it just once!)

A Birdy by any other name

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?

Get a grip

Bubby has clearly decided that ears are not only for listening, they make fantastic handles for holding on to during shoulder rides.

I'm wondering how long it'll take before he decides ears also make great grips for dragging baby brother Birdy around the house.

Now that I think about it, I'm even more curious to see how long it will take before he decides to drag Birdy around in this:

Things are gearing up to be quite interesting for Megan and Preston considering the many adventures of Bubby and Birdy to come!

Today's question:

What are you working to get a grip on today? A project at work or home? An issue with friends or family ... or yourself?

A bird in the hand

Our family had a bit of a scare this week: Megan, in her 19th week of pregnancy, experienced some funky business with Bubby's brother-to-be. So her doctor ordered an ultrasound.

Thankfully, all turned out well. Baby is alive and kicking and nestled firmly in (the right) place. And Megan and Preston were once again treated to an inside look at their second son ... which they then kindly shared with the family and I now share with you:

Bubby got a kick out of his baby brother's peek-a-boo stance and joyfully played a game of the same with PawDad and me during our Tuesday night Skype session, giggling and demonstrating how he and his brother will soon play.

The baby does indeed look like he's playing peek-a-boo in the photos. He also looks, to me, like a little bird, his wings still tiny and frail but soon to be strengthened then stretched as he learns to fly and eventually soar.

The thought of him being a little bird immediately brought a song to my heart ... and an earworm to my head. This is the song, the earworm, the empowering "Little Bird" the ultrasound pics bring to mind:

SORRY! VIDEO DISAPPEARED IN BLOG REDESIGN

(Annie Lennox - Little Bird found on YouClubVideo)

In light of the way I see the little guy in the pictures and the gotta-dance-about-it song he's lodged in my head and heart -- and despite Megan and Preston not yet settling 100 percent on the baby's name, despite the cute monikers offered up when I asked for suggestions on Facebook -- I've officially chosen a name to call Bubby's brother here on the blog. Well, more accurately, a name has been chosen for me, for the baby.

So without further adieu, dear Grandma's Briefs readers, I hereby dub thee, my newest grandbaby ... Birdy!

Stay tuned for the further adventures -- and peek-a-boo games! -- of Birdy and Bubby.

(PS: Just for kicks, take a look at Birdy's mouth and nose in the first ultrasound picture, then scroll down to the picture of Bubby in the "Changes on the way" post from two days ago. Do they not look alike already?)

Today's question:

When did you last have a "shew!" experience, a moment of relief when you -- literally or figuratively -- wipe your brow, sigh "shew!" and feel like everything's going to be okay?