free will naming

It was right around this time two years ago -- a little earlier, actually -- when I, hugely pregnant with the baby that would be George, started reading my unborn child's horoscope. I'm not a strong believer in astrology, though it's a recurring passing fancy like that of cancer patients who believe strongly in God when sick, but revert to agnosticism in remission. In times of confusion, when I'm in need of guidance or an unbiased party to set me straight, I read my horoscope. Specifically, the ones Rob Brezsny writes, because they're more like a pep talk from your new-agey friend than a transparent, one-size-fits-all premonition. 

This morning, I read George's. It began, "Harvey Ball was a commercial artist who dreamed up the iconic image of the smiley face." Anyone who's colored with my son knows that he's a managerial sort who'll boss you into drawing exactly what he wants. And what he wants is invariably a happy face. Sometimes on an elephant ("happy 'woo'" with trunk-swinging action), sometimes on an apple, sometimes just a round, smiling face. The rest of the horoscope went on to encourage Sagittarius to be sure and get credit where it's due, unlike poor Harvey Ball who was paid a measly $45 for his original, now iconic image. This, of course, doesn't really apply to a two year old who is, like most his age, sort of over-credited for everything but the connection was sweet nonetheless. 

Then, I read Aquarius. The new baby will be Aquarian unless she's very early or very late and it should follow, given that she is still a fetus, that hers didn't have much to allow. How could it, unless it suggested a slight decrease in flailing so that your mother might sleep? 

I read mine last. A Lily Allen quote: cute. A new mother herself, singing about neurosis and insecurity. Rob Brezsny cautioned me against high-falootin'. Good advice, but nothing earth shattering. Until the end, that is, when there it was: providence, or maybe just a nice coincidence. I should've read mine first, was the lesson. Put on your own oxygen mask before tending to your children, right? 

The footnote of my own horoscope defined a German word. A German word that is, like lots of German words, a Yiddish word as well. And like a lot of Yiddish words, it's also a Yiddish name. Its definition: happy. Ecstatic, if we're being specific. It has a feminine version, which is on our list of potential names for this baby. It's been George's favorite all along, the name he insists on when we suggest others, shaking his head, saying, "noooooo," like we must be joking, then repeating the one he likes, mostly to himself. It seems the universe -- or at least astrology -- is on his side. I don't know how comfortable I'll be telling the grown-up version of this fetus that her name was solidified by my week-of-December 8th horoscope, and who knows anyway: maybe she'll look so distinctly like one of the other names we like that it will all be moot. But somehow I doubt it.