Name that Baby

I completely respect people who don't want to know the sex of their babies before they're born. I'm sure it's super exciting in that moment the baby pops out that not ONLY do you get a baby, but you get to find out who he/she is!
I could never do this. It's so fun knowing there's a little boy in there. I feel like I know him so much better because he has a name and an identity. It made it so much easier after a must-quell craving for P.F. Chang's last weekend, when I insisted that David and I spend the rest of our date NOT at a movie but in Lowe's, to pick out paint colors for our little boy's room. But knowing the gender does mean that I get one extra question from every stranger who notices I'm pregnant.
1. When are you due?
2. Is this your first?
3. Do you know what you're having?
Bonus Question: Do you have a name picked out?

Well, the answer is, yes. I do have a name picked out. And it just doesn't feel right that the postman knows his name and you people don't. I like the postman, but I doubt he's a devoted dec-O-blog reader.

The only trouble with telling people his name is gauging their reactions. It's hard not to take it personally when someone's response is, "Ooooh." No smile. No giggle. Obviously, you hate my baby's name.
Or, "Oh, I haven't heard that one lately." Translation: Way to pull a name out of 1965.
Here's one I love: "That's nice. Is it a family name?" Translation: No one would ever name their baby that name unless it was a family name.

Please, people, when a pregnant woman tells you her baby's name, or anything else about her pregnancy for that matter, just smile and say, "That's wonderful," in a genuine tone. It's your only job in that situation.

So, I'll only tell you his name if you tell me it's wonderful and then smile.