The IB strikes again

I've taken to blaming the "Infertility Bitch" for all the stupid and unnecessary things that happen along this journey. For instance - IB took the blame when IVF failed and not even 2 hours later a baby shower invite showed up in my mailbox...then I had to trudge my pitiful ass out to the baby department for a gift. IB struck again the time I was going in for yet another failed preggo test and I stopped at the grocery store on my way home...just as they were installing the "stork parking" sign. Seriously - I go to the grocery store maybe twice a month...and I just happen to be there on that day? IB strikes again. And let's not forget the time I had finally mustered up the courage to visit a good friend in the maternity ward and ON THE WAY THERE, J gets a call on his cell phone from a friend announcing they're pregnant. Chalk another one for IB. OR, the ever impressive due date: my brother and his pregnant-cigarette-smokin' wife's due date is our anniversary. I mean really, IB has some talent.

So here's a new one. And I'm glad that I have such a creative opponent as IB. Really, she keeps me on my toes, because this one takes the cake. Well, it takes a few things...

Our next door neighbors (who by the way, got pregnant the second the moved in the same city as our non-baby-havin asses), had their kid Saturday night. Or at least at this point we assume they've had the baby since there have been "It's a Boy!" balloons sitting on their front porch for a few days. Awesome for them. Super happy, really (really!). So tonight after dinner J and I decide to take the dog on a walk. We bump into another neighbor and get to chatting, and while we're out there the new papa shows up and pulls into the driveway. He comes over - beaming - tells us all about the new addition - couldn't be more excited. Very cute.

After a few minutes it occurs to me that we have no idea what the kid's name is, so I ask.

...Wait for it as IB rears her wicked, malicious head...

The baby's name is Jackson. I whip my head around towards J and he has this gutted look on his face as he eeks out "You took our name." There was actually a split second where I thought he was going to cry - or be sick. Or maybe it was just that I wanted to cry AND be sick.

Our neighbor (who knows nothing about our situation and that we've been sitting on this name for 11 years) says: "Oh don't worry - we spell it: J-a-x-s-o-n."

So they stole our name. And THEN they stripper-fied it.

IB, my hat is off to you, I did not see that coming.

You see, this name has a fabulous story behind it for us. It's like one of those truly hilarious inside jokes that I could never explain in a million years. Or if I did, you wouldn't get it. When J and I first started dating, one of my friends (who hadn't yet met J) nicknamed him "Jackson". He was expecting some preppy golfing plaid pants wearing dude. Well, actually, J IS a preppy golf playing dude, but that wasn't the point. These two guys ended up being really good friends, and we all still joke about him calling J Jackson. The "Jackson" calling went on for almost a year and J had no idea. Which of course made it funnier.

See? It's a really stupid story. But if you're one of the insiders to the inside joke, it's f-ing hilarious. And it was one of our very first goofy things as a couple. Well, it wasn't "one of our first", it really WAS the first.

You know what - fuck it. Our neighbors just better move in the next 50 years that it takes us to get pregnant. We're bustin' out Jackson...sans the stripper X.