A Pregnant Pause
My dim-but-lovable star has hitched itself to the latest celebrity trend: reproduction. That's right, I'm pregnant, and not just "cute fat," as the female stranger loudly and inexplicably described me to her posse as I was walking down Christopher Street the other day. Well, maybe I am just cute fat, because I'm only about 2 months along and shouldn't be showing for another three. But I'm also pregnant, so there is more of the cute stuff to come (along with a good deal of not-so-cute fat, I'm sure). Come late October I will be have my own little "it" accessory, a mini-me.
Pardon me, I just had to take a shudder pause after the last sentence. I'm so afraid of a little me or little him, and more afraid of a little combo package. Mostly because we are both such babies. I was a world-class fit thrower, and although he claims to have been the perfect baby, he is more than making up for fits past in his 30s. Our baby could have bad-behavior super powers.
The other part of my fear is that he and I have spent our lives hating ourselves and now we will be bound to love our offspring. I suddenly sympathize with my hypercritical father, though I can't forgive him and vow never to be like him. He looked at my brother and me and saw reflections of himself - his looks, his abilities, his shortcomings, his failed marriage - all things he couldn't stand. He could never really see us, our talents, accomplishments or unique traits. We were "ghouls" in his eyes, and he told us so, repeatedly. He is probably more vocal than most parents, but I think it's a common problem. My goal is to ensure that my child knows s/he is beautiful and miraculous and brilliant and adored, but do I have to convince myself of those things about me first? Will the part of me where my evil father lives surface and criticize those things in my child that he hated about me, that I grew to hate about me?
Oh it's all so tiring. That's why these days I'm in bed by 9 pm. Eyes shut by 9:30. I haven't even had the chance to think up baby names, so send in those suggestions. I prefer something exotic and trendy, like Pina or Merlot (can you tell I haven't had a drink in over two months?), while my husband wants a timeless classic, like Elvis or Django or Johnny Rotten.
Truthfully, I hate today's trendy baby names, and not just the obvious inanimate-object or pet-type names like Apple or Jet. I know the following could alienate readers if I had any besides my best friend (hubby doesn't even read, sigh), but it must be said. Here are my official rules for baby names:
No girls named Taylor, Tyler, Riley, Clark or Keaton. Some boyish girl names are cute, like Charly or Freddy, but Madison is the third most popular name in the country according to the Social Security Administration. That seems wrong.
No fey-yet-supermacho boys named Austin or Trenton (or another other state capitals for that matter) or Finn or Ryder. I just learned that Brooklyn is among the top 200 most popular baby names. No!
No super-cute names spelled super cutely, like Cayleigh or Shaylah.
By the time my kid is in fifth grade, these names will be the standards - just as Jennifer and Michelle and Kelly were in my generation, and Nancy and Linda and Patricia were in my mom's. I'm already sick of trendy names, but can you imagine how grotesque they'll seem at that point? It makes me want to call the baby Sam or Mary and call it a day (make that Samson and Marriette, because my kid might need something overly stuffy and pseudo-intellectual to fall back on).
My grandmother wanted to name my aunt Gay Holliday before settling on Joni. My mom wanted to call my blond-haired, blue-eyed brother Hector. He was named Thaddeus instead, which I personally like better. And there was serious talk of my brother and I being named Pebbles and Bam Bam (it was the 70s, my parents were drugged). I have a Taylor in my family (and a little Riley on the way) and a Shasta, so I know of which I write. But we have yet to decide on a name for our little fetus. Fetus! Feedus... Feitas... Phoetus... could work, but for a boy or girl?
Pardon me, I just had to take a shudder pause after the last sentence. I'm so afraid of a little me or little him, and more afraid of a little combo package. Mostly because we are both such babies. I was a world-class fit thrower, and although he claims to have been the perfect baby, he is more than making up for fits past in his 30s. Our baby could have bad-behavior super powers.
The other part of my fear is that he and I have spent our lives hating ourselves and now we will be bound to love our offspring. I suddenly sympathize with my hypercritical father, though I can't forgive him and vow never to be like him. He looked at my brother and me and saw reflections of himself - his looks, his abilities, his shortcomings, his failed marriage - all things he couldn't stand. He could never really see us, our talents, accomplishments or unique traits. We were "ghouls" in his eyes, and he told us so, repeatedly. He is probably more vocal than most parents, but I think it's a common problem. My goal is to ensure that my child knows s/he is beautiful and miraculous and brilliant and adored, but do I have to convince myself of those things about me first? Will the part of me where my evil father lives surface and criticize those things in my child that he hated about me, that I grew to hate about me?
Oh it's all so tiring. That's why these days I'm in bed by 9 pm. Eyes shut by 9:30. I haven't even had the chance to think up baby names, so send in those suggestions. I prefer something exotic and trendy, like Pina or Merlot (can you tell I haven't had a drink in over two months?), while my husband wants a timeless classic, like Elvis or Django or Johnny Rotten.
Truthfully, I hate today's trendy baby names, and not just the obvious inanimate-object or pet-type names like Apple or Jet. I know the following could alienate readers if I had any besides my best friend (hubby doesn't even read, sigh), but it must be said. Here are my official rules for baby names:
No girls named Taylor, Tyler, Riley, Clark or Keaton. Some boyish girl names are cute, like Charly or Freddy, but Madison is the third most popular name in the country according to the Social Security Administration. That seems wrong.
No fey-yet-supermacho boys named Austin or Trenton (or another other state capitals for that matter) or Finn or Ryder. I just learned that Brooklyn is among the top 200 most popular baby names. No!
No super-cute names spelled super cutely, like Cayleigh or Shaylah.
By the time my kid is in fifth grade, these names will be the standards - just as Jennifer and Michelle and Kelly were in my generation, and Nancy and Linda and Patricia were in my mom's. I'm already sick of trendy names, but can you imagine how grotesque they'll seem at that point? It makes me want to call the baby Sam or Mary and call it a day (make that Samson and Marriette, because my kid might need something overly stuffy and pseudo-intellectual to fall back on).
My grandmother wanted to name my aunt Gay Holliday before settling on Joni. My mom wanted to call my blond-haired, blue-eyed brother Hector. He was named Thaddeus instead, which I personally like better. And there was serious talk of my brother and I being named Pebbles and Bam Bam (it was the 70s, my parents were drugged). I have a Taylor in my family (and a little Riley on the way) and a Shasta, so I know of which I write. But we have yet to decide on a name for our little fetus. Fetus! Feedus... Feitas... Phoetus... could work, but for a boy or girl?
posted by j.m. at 9:23 PM
0 comments
