The letter J

Today I decided to end the charade and admit that, much as I get weirded out by the idea of referring to an unborn person by name, I know the name of the particular unborn person currently residing in me as well as I know my own. 

I was at M&Ps (at 38.5 weeks pregnant I can confidently say it's the best place to pee near Oxford Circus) and, like I do every single time I'm there, I found myself looking at the bin of blue fabric letters, picking up the letter J and feeling this weird little premonition of love and pride.

Unlike every other time I've been in there however, Alex was with me... and so I was busted. Despite my insistence that we both come up with a list of names to bring to the hospital (a scheme he has been cleverly circumnavigating by adding only names of babies we already know to the list, thereby leaving J as the only viable option) I'm down to the one name, too.

So. I guess we just named our son.