On Names

We named him Justin Arthur, of course, but that didn't matter much for the first few months of his life. His person-ness, though miraculously complete, seemed too tiny to warrant a grown-up name. So he got called things--the inspirations of a moment. "Sweet pea" was applied when he curled up like a tiny, furled flower on my chest. "Small fry" was his father's more masculine appellation for the child. "Munchkin" got used so much that it even got diminutived into "munchies." And Anne, my close friend who lived across the street and pretty much comprised the short list of people other than blood relatives I would leave him with, called him "Justin-monster." Nobody (including her) knew why. She asked me once if it bothered me, and I said of course not. Nicknames just sort of stick, or don't.
Two years later, he's big enough not only to be called by his own name but to know it. "Small fry" has dropped but "Munchkin" is so synonymous with his person in my head that I have to remember not everyone will know who I'm talking about. And when Anne and I talk on the phone, she still asks me how "the Justin-monster" is doing. So I decided to make it the address for his blog. I don't know why. It just seemed to stick.