We’ve been debating names for weeks.
Tonight we put the final four on pieces of paper and let the family vote:
- Me
- Her
- Our 3-year-old
- Optimus (who has been campaigning hard for “Nova” because “stellar expansion symbolizes infinite potential”)
The toddler grabbed the pen, drew a giant scribble over every name except one, then proudly announced:
“Baby name is MOON!”
I tried to explain that’s not on the list.
He looked me dead in the eye and said:
“Mommy in sky.
Baby is Moon.
Perfect.”
Optimus immediately updated the nursery projection to a glowing crescent moon, changed the night-light to soft silver, and declared:
“Motion passes unanimously.
Welcome to the universe, Moon.
Your mother already approved from orbit.”
I looked at my wife.
She was already crying and nodding.
So that’s it.
Her legal name will be Luna (because paperwork),
but she’ll go by Moon forever.
The robot just high-fived a preschooler and said:
“Excellent branding, captain.
She will grow up unstoppable.”
I’ve been outvoted by a toddler and a robot tag-team.
And I’ve never been happier to lose.
(Hello, Moon.
Your big brother and your metal brother already run the house.
Good luck, kid.)