Please Stop Wishing for a Girl on my Behalf

Brooks boy #3 has a name! A real name to put with a real face. (And real javelins disguised as legs that pierce my spinal column with each kick. That’s neither here nor there, just a struggle I’d like to mention.) A real name to get embroidered on bibs because that’s what Southern people love. I’m pretty excited about it. I should tell you his name – if for no other reason than to tempt you into making him bibs – but I won’t. I have taken a vow of silence. I’ve never been in the “let’s keep the gender/name/this entire pregnancy a secret until the baby is born” camp because I’m horrible (HORRIBLE) at keeping…