I cried at work today. Great big fat tears that rolled down my neck and into the creases of my too-small bra. I haven't cried in weeks, and I was having an otherwise easy deadline day. So what happened?
Yeah yeah, hormones schmormones.
What happened was this: My coworker mentioned a number of kids she knew with hyphenated last names. Smith-Murphy. Green-McDonald. For example. Asked what Baby would be.
Aha! Man and I have talked about this. I tease him about giving Baby my last name only. He clams up and grunts and doesn't say no, but doesn't exactly say okay either. I am teasing, because it is his kid as much as it is mine, and there's no singular argument for giving the child my last name (even if it is infinitely more cute than his last name. Just sayin'...). So I figured we'd hyphenate. I believe having family unity is important, if only for when travelling through customs. And seeing as I don't use his last name (we're not married), hyphenated is the way to go. If we were married, I'd go hyphenated (I really do love my last name, and it truly is much cuter than his) but the kid would have Man's last name. That way we'd all have one name in common and customs/air travel would be that much easier. Without a marriage certificate, it's Baby who is burdened with being the tie that binds. Sorry, kid.
And this is what set off the waterworks. Okay, maybe there's something to this hormone thing after all.