Let's be Frank

My fifth grandson was born recently.  So when Mama went into labor in the late afternoon, I picked up Aidan (3 years) and Josiah (16 months) to stay overnight.  The next day we were driving to the hospital so we could all meet the new baby.  On the way, Aidan asked, “Granma, what’s the baby’s name?”  To which I confidently replied, “Elijah David.” 

“No, Granma, what’s the baby’s name?”  he demanded.

Thinking maybe the David part threw him off, I replied, “Elijah.”

“No, Granma, what’s the baby’s name?”  Persistent little sweetheart.

“Eli?” I said doubtfully, wondering where the conversation was going.

“No, Granma, what’s the baby’s name?”  Apparently I’m failing at granmahood 101.

“I don’t know, Aidan.  What’s the baby’s name?”

To which he replied with a definitive nod, “Frank.”  That settled that.  I know better than to argue with a 3 year old.

When we got to the hospital and after I had my share of infant kissing, I asked Court and Christine why Aidan thinks his brother’s name is Frank.  This lead to much laughter on their part. You see, they never share the baby’s name prior to birth, but Aidan is such a sponge that they were afraid he might have picked it up and would share it if pried by curious grandparents – a valid concern. 

So they convinced Aidan that the baby’s name was Frank.  Middle name:  Furter. J