He Who Must Be Named FuzzballNaomi Odes
When I was in the delivery room with Fuzz, and we found out he was a boy, we looked at each other and said the only boy name we had both agreed upon. It seemed fitting at the time, and now it suits him to a tee.
When my Obstetrician asked us the name, she instantly said: “Oh! Have you read The Invention of Hugo Cabret?”
We had not.
“My nine-year-old loves that book. They’re making it into a movie. Scorsese’s directing.”
All this was communicated in the O.R. as she was sewing up a 3.5-inch incision in my gut, by the way. Nothing for nothing, but how she managed to get a 20 1/2 inch, 8 lb, 9 oz baby out of a 3.5-inch hole is sort of a mystery to me. Oh well, guess that’s why she’s the doctor, and I’m not.
Regardless, I have lived in mild fear that the name we chose would suddenly become popular. Now, my fear appears to be on the verge of coming true. Everywhere we look, there’s Fuzz’s name: The sides of buses, giant billboards, the subway, you name it.
Actually, I’m interested in reading the book and seeing the movie, as they are both supposed to be really good, but this is not the point.
We purposely chose unique names for our kids that were easy enough to spell but not common enough that there might be a few of them in their class, but now I wonder if there will be a bunch of Hugos running around in a few years?
I can’t wait for the people who will incorrectly do the math and assume we named our son this because of the movie.
Sigh. Maybe I’ll have to legally change his name to Fuzzball. You don’t think he’ll mind, do you?
So, now you know Fuzz’s name. The up-side of this is that it’s been a useful tool for Shnook to learn to spell and read his brother’s name.
But he’s still Fuzzball to you, capiche?
Photo Courtesy of IMDB