We'd probably been dating eight or nine months when Sed first turned to me and asked, "So when you have kids, what do you want to name them?"

To this day, I'm not really sure whether it was casual conversation or a test to see how serious I was or what. At that early stage in the game, a question like that is supposed to freak guys out -- it's one that could potentially send me tearing down the stairs of her dorm, not really caring that I'd missed one near the top because after all falling makes for a faster getaway. But there haven't been many emotional concepts within our relationship that have progressed at a leisurely pace. We got past "I love you" within the first six weeks, and meant it -- even college kids aren't dumb enough to miss that.

Ever since, the one constant topic of conversation with my wife over the last eight years, besides which of us loves the other one more, has been names for our eventual children. We've fought over it, discussed it, lobbied for names, offered various favors and services, and continuously brought up the same one over and over to eventually break the other down into accepting it.

It hasn't been an easy subject. I like normal names, the ones that people actually have, names like Jennifer and Alex and Robert. Sed prefers to open the dictionary at random and modify the word she selects until it sounds like a name, invariably a girl's name. Her other favorite work of reference, I'd be willing to guess, is the atlas. I can't even begin to count the number of times I've shot down "Kalahari."

Unlike a lot of our "compromises" in this marriage, I haven't just given in on this issue to make Sed happy. Most of the time, it's not that big a deal to me. We moved to Florida because it was the best place for her continued education, as well as the last great adventure for us as a young couple before we settled down. Turns out I don't like it, but I'm sticking it out because she's getting a fantastic experience. Plus I know our term here will end. Names last a lifetime.

Around the start of July, though, we managed to agree, so quickly it was like it had never been an arguable issue spanning most of eight years. She proposed a boy's name that, while normal, was not the same one every other parent uses. And I suggested a girl's that was unusual, but not so much that our families would think we were high when we chose it. Everything clicked so suddenly, after all those years of negotiations, and I wasn't sure how.

But if you believe in fate, you could say we were just being set up for the conception coming at the end of the month.

For the record: no, we weren't actively trying to get pregnant. But at the same time, we both had a pretty strong inclination it was going to happen, being educated adults and knowing how it works. One of us is actually a pregnancy doctor; you can't say we didn't understand what we were doing.

Besides, we're both ready to be parents, and we're both tired of waiting for the "right time" to have a child. Originally, we'd planned to start upon our return to New Mexico, but then you're facing taking time off from a new job, having the pregnancy seen as a pre-existing condition by insurance, grandparents dismembering each other over whose turn it is to slather on the love, and so on. There will always be mitigating conditions, and so there's never a right time to have a baby.

No, wait -- that's wrong. Any time two people love and care for each other, plan to spend their lives together, and are ready and eager to share a family is the right time to have a baby. Given our early start on the lifelong romance, the prolonged discussions about the whos and hows and whens of our future, it's a wonder we waited this long. There's no question in our minds that Sed and I are doing this the right way.