Before this little guy was born, he didn’t have a name. Around these parts, we took to calling him Baby Gray.
A month or so before his third birthday, I started thinking maybe it was time to make his name “grow up” a little. You know, three is not a baby anymore.
I had a name in mind. I was ready to make the switch on his birthday. I started typing. It didn’t fit. I came up with something else. I wasn’t sold. I polled the audience. Results were mixed. So I made a decision. He’s my baby. Forever. Three or thirty-three, he’s Baby Gray ’round here.
And is it sad that I didn't know Baby Gray's real name until he was probably at least 1.5 years old??
I can relate!! I still call my 2 1/2 year old my baby…it only gets confusing when I tell him he's my baby but then a few minutes later I tell him that he can't act like the new baby because he's a big boy. Poor kid probably doesn't know whether he's a baby or a big kid!