Names I Like Very Much, But Could Only Choose One Of

Amalia


Oliver

I have cousins named Jeffy and Steffy*, and I refuse to make my kids Molly and Olly.

*I haven't spoken to them in a while. I imagine that they go by other names now, though Jeff and Steph is not much better. Jeffrey and Stephanie is fine.

Shallow Worries

 pb (B-Day +1) and her dad

At this preparatory stage of motherhood, I have many substantial worries: Will I be able to get pregnant? Will I be sick for nine months straight? Will the baby be healthy? Will I be able to hack childbirth? Will I manage to keep my baby alive once it's born?

All of these epic worries make my shallower worries seem unforgivably petty — so much so that I hesitate to mention them. But, if this blog is going to be useful as a record, I can't hold back.

One of my shallowest worries is that my baby will be . . .  unattractive. Not ugly exactly — but not within my frame of reference for attractive babies.

I should explain — my family are all dark-eyed, dark-haired, and olive-skinned, while my husband is the pastiest of redheads. All of my siblings have been adorable, round-faced, coal-eyed Mediterranean babies born with copious amounts of black hair. I hear that other babies lose their birth hair — none of us did (though mine did recede a bit from my forehead and shoulders).

Whenever I see a chubby, dark-eyed baby, I want to swoop in and kiss it. But I don't have such a thing for blond, blue-eyed babies. They're cute enough, but my brain doesn't seem to register MINE.

I'm sure I'll think that any child of mine is the cutest, sweetest, smartest baby alive, but the possibility of having a child who doesn't display the physical characteristics of my ethnicity is somewhat troubling. I imagine it's part and parcel of my larger guilt over not transmitting my heritage to my kids. I've taken their father's hyper-Anglo last name, I've abandoned my Catholicism, I've moved 100 miles away from my family, etc. I'm going to have to name Snapdragon Giovanni Giuseppe Luigino in order to assuage my guilt.

So maybe not that shallow. Still, in the scheme of things, a petty worry.

Confused

My mother-in-law's best friend's daughter, C, had a baby recently — a little girl.

C is into all sorts of sci-fi and Ren Faire type stuff, so I was keenly interested in her choice of names for her newborn. I was definitely expecting something Celtic or fantasy-inspired: Arwen or Raven or Guinevere or something along those lines.

Then, MiL mentioned that C was telling everyone that she wanted something "beautiful and unusual" for her precious snowflake. That changed my thinking. Not only was it going to be an unusual name, it was going to be something that even C considered unusual. Seraphina? Iolanthe? Boudica?

When the baby came, MiL emailed to tell us that mom and baby were both healthy and happy and that C had chosen the name . . .

. . . Emma Isabelle.

Major disappointment.

Happy Anniversary, FB

Two years ago today, FB and I finally moved out of the living in sin phase and into the legally-recognized family phase of our relationship.

While I haven't noticed a very stark contrast between our pre-marriage and post-marriage relationships, I'm very glad that we had a wedding. It was a beautiful day — about 200 of our friends and relatives gathered in my aunt's back yard and joined us in celebrating. We had delicious barbecue, kegs of Sam Adams, and an extensive cake buffet. Our dads (and many uncles, friends, etc.) are musicians, so people brought guitars, fiddles, and bodhrans and sang until dark.

Most importantly, everyone we loved was there, which was especially important because my beloved grandfather suffered a massive, fatal stroke just a few weeks later. He lingered almost a year before dying, but he was not himself during that time. Because of our wedding, everyone in the family has dozens of pictures of themselves spending time with him just before he left us.


We don't usually make a big deal out of anniversaries — we're going to dinner tonight, but after that, FB's going to watch the All-Star Game with friends. Last year, we went to Cape Cod for the weekend around this time. The trip was notable only because FB lost his wedding ring while we were playing in the very cold ocean (finger shrinkage). He has since gotten a replacement.

I love you, FB. Hopefully, we'll have to get a babysitter in order to go out for dinner next year!

Names I Like Very Much, But Could Never Inflict on a Child

Dorcas

Remember

Luna

Everything's More Fun

On a recent business trip, FB had a chance to hang out with his brother in San Francisco. After visiting the Exploratorium, FB sent me a text:

"This would be so much fun with kids."

Over the past few years, I've found myself thinking the same thing over and over. Christmas is lovely, but it would be so much fun with kids! We love the New England Aquarium — imagine how great it would be with kids! The beach, our garden, birthdays, rainy afternoons — all could be vastly improved by the addition of happy babies/toddlers/kids.

I can't wait to get started.

Twins by Surprise

Last night, sleepless, I found myself watching a TLC special called "Twins by Surprise." The show recreated the stories of four women who thought they were carrying singletons, but ended up with surprise twins. One of the mothers had her babies in 1979, before ultrasound was routine, two more were assisted by midwives (one home birth, one hospital), and one one had an unassisted homebirth.

It was an upbeat show — all the twins were born full term (or nearly so) and healthy — but the final story really bothered me. The woman who had the unassisted homebirth had no prenatal care and was relying on her obviously clueless husband's help. Both parents assured the camera that they had done all the necessary research and preparation, but I was skeptical.

I went and read some freebirth websites to find out what she could have been thinking. The sites I read had some good points, but also some very flimsy reasoning. I agree that routine birth is not a medical event and that doctors and hospitals do not always provide the best care. All five of my mother's children were born with the assistance of midwives, without drugs, and I fully intend to find a birth center for my own little Snapdragon.*

The part where the freebirth websites go off the rails is in their assertion that unassisted birth is a reversion to a natural state/historical norm. They cursorily acknowledge the existence of midwives, but all of the sites I read portray the choice as a stark contrast between strapped-down, knocked-out c-section and giving birth serenely and solitarily in a field of daisies. They draw facile analogies between quadrupeds and humans, implying that solitary birth is natural for women.

In fact, solo childbirth among humans is an historical anomaly. Social birth and bipedalism go hand-in-hand. In my other life, I am an historian and I can say for sure that throughout recorded history, solo births have never been the norm. It has been much more typical for women to be assisted by mothers, sisters, neighbors, and experienced midwives. Skillful helpers have soothed and served women in labor, encouraged them, and dealt with emergencies.

I am sympathetic to some of freebirth advocates' points: labor is natural, we are inappropriately socialized to expect suffering rather than competence, we need to listen to women and trust them.

But I don't think it follows that freebirth is the logical end of these beliefs. Many midwives and mothers — and even some doctors — are respectful and helpful, rather than overbearing and meddlesome. I don't think freebirth should be illegal because I'm staunchly pro-choice, but speaking for myself, I wish to be surrounded by caring, competent women, just as my ancestors were.**

*I have nothing against homebirth and think it's probably best for a lot of people — my major reason for prefering a birth center to a home birth is that I want to leave as much mess/bodily fluids elsewhere, rather than in my 700-sq-ft house.
**I do hope to have FB there with me, too — a feature of modern birth I fully embrace.