Namer’s remorse

Katie Allison Granju points to an article highlighting the phenomenon of baby namer’s remorse. Too many people on the baby forums I frequent were “I don’t care what other people say, I’m going to name him Laffable McStoopidname or Ridiculously Over-popular if it’s a girl.”

Maybe, just maybe, you should care what other people say. Now, I’m not saying you should necessarily bend to other people’s whims. There are lots of names that might be perfectly acceptable but that I would never use because it’s the name of an ex-boyfriend or that boogery girl in 3rd grade. But maybe a little market testing isn’t such a bad idea. And then you wouldn’t have to re-name your child. Not that I would do that, I’ve tried it with pets and unless you do it straight outta the pet rescue it doesn’t work. (Our own Fancy was aka Missy at Battersea.)

I knew the first name we had chosen would be popular – maybe even the number one choice in Tennessee (it has been for several years) and it makes the Top 10 in England and Wales, where it’s probably been since the decade or so after 1066. Although it’s not the US national choice, not even in the top 10. But it’s a name with a little bit of choice for nickname and it’s a family name. His middle name is in current vogue – not sure where it figures exactly – but again it’s a family name. And given that it’s a family and coincidentally reflects the Vol-in-Law’s Ulster heritage, too, it’s gone down well with both sides.

For a girl’s name, our choices were less solid. My favorite shortly before the gender was revealed to us rendering the discussion moot was Edith. No one much liked it, but I didn’t care – I was thinking of using Edie as a nickname. But recently I read that Edith might be on the comeback – and while for a boy’s name I like the traditional yet popular, for girls I like the traditional yet unusual. (Not unlike what my parents and the ViL’s parents did.)

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In the UK, I think it’s a bit easier and a lot cheaper to change your or a kid’s name.

Jab the kids

Y’all remember how Bob Barker used to admonish the viewers to spay and neuter their pets at the close of every Price is Right? Man, I wish somebody would update that message for the noughties.

And remember, please vaccinate your children.

For pete’s sake people, pleeeease, vaccinate your children.

I participate in these online forums for babies born in May 07. Yes, my baby wasn’t born in May, but he was supposed to have been. Anyway, on both the US and British equivalents, there are a number of parents who have chosen not to vaccinate their children. Generally, the discussion forum etiquette is to not criticize. I skirt the line already and I knew that I couldn’t reply and be civil. These are threads I’ve seen today:

American scenario in which I paraphrase:

I want to give up pumping breast milk. It’s a pain. It takes a good part of my day and I only get 8 oz a day for my 7 month old son. But the thing is, I haven’t vaccinated my child so my husband is on my case saying that what’s a little bit of time when it’s our son’s health on the line? What should I do (support only please)?

OK, sweetie. I’m a big breastfeeding advocate, and I would gently (hopefully) encourage anyone with a baby under one to stick it out a little longer. But I gotta admit the pumping thing is a pain in the ass and frankly I probably would have given that up ages ago. But kudos to all the pumping moms who are able to do it. And for sure, your hubby probably doesn’t understand what it’s like to have a machine slurping at your bosom, so I’d discount his opinion slightly.

Yes, I also believe that breastfeeding helps with immunities and it’s part of the reason I continue to breastfeed Buddy.

But breastfeeding is not a magic bullet. It does NOT GUARANTEE against your child catching infectious diseases. If it did, do you think infant mortality pre-vaccines and pre-formula when babies breastfed would have been quite so high? If it did, do you think we’d have epidemics and stuff? We’d all be drinking little bottles of breastmilk daily.

If you don’t want to pump anymore, fine. But please, vaccinate your child.

British scenario:

I think my 4 year old son has measles, he’s been (a run down of measle like symptoms). I asked the doctor what I should do? He said not to worry, but to keep my son away from old people and those who haven’t been inoculated. Now my baby has a fever, too.

I feel bad for this woman. I do. I hope it’s not measles. I hope it’s just a little snuffles that goes away tomorrow. But she’d be a lot more sure it wasn’t something serious if she had vaccinated her child.

And you know, I’d be a lot more sure that Buddy wouldn’t be exposed to measles before he was old enough to get the shots if she and a lot of other people had vaccinated their children.

Things I’ll never do

Did I ever tell you about how I used to sell Christmas trees? I don’t think I have. Anyway, I did. When I worked at a garden center in Knoxville we sold Christmas trees, at Christmas obviously. Mostly it was pretty good fun. The smell of the firs and spruces. Using a chainsaw to put a fresh cut on a Christmas tree. Chainsaws are fun.

Mostly it was fun. But sometimes it wasn’t. Sometimes people weren’t as nice as they could have been. Like the guy who threatened his wife because she ordered a big ass live blue spruce for their entry foyer and he was gonna pop her if it scratched the marble tiles. (It was a questionable choice of tree, but hardly an excuse for domestic violence)

Another time, I saw this mom tell her kid who was – I don’t know – seven? – that he could pick out any tree in the lot. He was a thoughtful little guy and he wandered amongst the trees and picked one out. It was a good tree. Even, full, of a harmonious conical shape, nice good limb development for optimal ornament hang-age. Well, I can’t remember, but I do remember being pretty impressed with his choice. On the other hand, we didn’t have many duff trees.

All the trees were hung up with twine from the marquis frame, so the kid pointed out his tree and Bruce (a co-worker) and I cut down the tree and started to take it over for the fresh cut to the base. Now once we make that fresh cut, you have to buy that tree – that’s the rule. But mom comes out and directs dad and kid inside to look at the poinsettias – and tells us that she really wants this other tree instead.

The tree is really no better, really not that much different. But mom’s the one with the money, so we do what she wants and we don’t say anything.

Bruce and I feel bad about it, so we work quick. Normally the fresh cut and the baling will be more or less a one person job, but we worked together so that we could get that tree baled up and tied onto the roof of their car before the kid comes back out again.

We were just tying the last knots on the luggage rack when the kid comes up to us and says, in a quiet voice. “That’s not my tree, is it?” He seemed more resigned than upset. We could have lied – cheerfully. We could have. But something about the way he said it – we just looked at each other and said “No, it’s not.” And the kid was not surprised, it clearly wasn’t the first time something like this had happened.

Anyway, I swore when I had a kid, this would be something I’d never do. If it mattered that much to me, I wouldn’t offer a choice. Cause a kid can tell his own tree even baled up and tied to the roof of a car.

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Chris is wrestling with the things he said he’d never do as a parent. Like use the tv as a mollifier. I think I said something like that, too. Plus we agreed we’d stop swearing. Well, that hasn’t happened. Never say never. But I’m still sticking with my promise not to pull a stunt like the Christmas tree swap.

Chunky monkey

My baby is not a chunky guy. He’s just not. My dad was visiting recently and downloaded some photos he’d taken when Cletus was about six weeks old. He looks like a little skeleton baby. He looks almost like one of those little African starving babies. At least that’s what he looks like to me now. Anyway, he wasn’t a chubby little roly poly baby.

When he was about three months old, I took him to the garden show and some older woman asked me how old he was and I said and she said that was about the same age as her grandson. But her grandson was so much bigger. She asked me how much my baby weighed. I told her (I think it was about 12 pounds). She looked shocked. I said “Yeah, he’s little.” He was about the 9th percentile for weight at that point – meaning about 90% of babies his age weighed more than he did. And then she said her grandson was 16 pounds. Her grandson was just growing and thriving. He was just coming on leaps and bounds.

Shut the fuck up, I wanted to say. I wanted to say “Hey, you know I’m sure you’re thrilled with your grandson’s growth. And while on the one hand I don’t actively want him to shrivel up and fade away on the other hand I don’t know you and I don’t really care and I don’t know why you think I would care. I don’t begrudge you your little chunky monkey, but just so you know I’m actually very worried about my son’s growth. I don’t know why you’d want to rub in the fact that your grandson seems to be doing better than my boy when you could equally well take private pleasure in it or share it with the parents of your grandson later. But I don’t really need you exacerbating my anxiety so you can get off in some kind of weird way. You old freak.”

She probably didn’t mean anything by it. But her co-grandma, who was standing next to her, looked a little uncomfortable, too. So I know it wasn’t just me.

Anyway, it all worked out. Here’s Cletus looking like a lumberjack and he’s ok.

And there he is as an elf.

He’s so OK, in fact, he’s up to just over 17 lbs and according to CDC weight charts he’s on the 50th centile. He’s Mr Median. (According to English charts based on formula fed babies he’s just above the 40th centile).

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A blogger with a new baby is having trouble*. She’s finding life with a newborn difficult. Really, it’s probably all OK or will be OK, but it’s really, really hard. And I think she probably feels like if she complains it will seem like she’s not grateful for her much wanted baby.

I tell you what, I wonder if I’m guilty of “My baby is easy. I breezed through the newborn thing. He’s a walk in the park. I’m a kick-ass breast feeder. My baby can already drive and I would let him start University next fall, but well…I’m needy.” A little bit like that crazy grandma and her fat lump of a grandson.

Anyway, if I have been – I’m sorry. I’m just trying to accentuate the positive. The newborn thing sucked. It was awful. In the early days, I had to remind myself that if I didn’t take adequate care of him the law would come after me. I had to tell myself “Fake it til you make it,” because I really didn’t feel especially bonded with him. Not like all those other women on-line “It was love at first sight…” blah, blah, blah. I couldn’t imagine my life without him. Well, I could and often did. I kept thinking about how I heard that Bulgarian babies were bringing about 50,000 Euros and so how much more would my baby be worth on the black market? (To a good home only – and yes, I know it’s ethnocentric to rate my baby higher, but it was my fantasy)

Breastfeeding actually wasn’t that bad for me, but there was an awful lot of doubt about whether he was getting enough nutrition. And there were many times that I was just plain tired of it and felt like it was sucking the life out of me.

Cletus screamed and screamed. At one point, I thought we’d never be able to eat a meal in peace again. He still can’t stand to be put down much. He’s now old enough to go into a door jumper and a baby activity center – but he doesn’t like them if you’re not actually looking at him. And heaven forbid you should do something like blog.

He does cry a lot less, but that’s because we’re better trained to attend his needs as quickly as possible.

Actually, now that we’re approaching six months, it’s a lot better. He’s a lot cuter. He’s more interactive. We can kind of share experiences. Really. Like when I help him pet a cat (his fave thing). It’s still hard, but the rewards are greater. I guess this parenting thing is always hard, but as you go on it’s hard in a different way.

I don’t know if this makes you feel any better mystery blogger. Probably not. But I just want you to know you’re not alone.
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*I’d link to this blogger, but I don’t think she’d want me to. I will if she lets me know.

baby food

Pureed lentils come out about the same way they went in.

Smart as a whip

No matter what Cletus does, my parents put it down to his intelligence.

Alert and active. Because he’s soooo smart.

Waking in the night: Because he’s sooo smart.

Throwing fits from apparent cabin fever: Because he’s sooo smart.

Watching tv like a couch munchkin: Because he’s sooo smart.

Later on in life, they may be saying the same thing. Disruptive in class? He must be bored, because…well, you know.

Who knows if he’s a smart baby or not. But here’s some new evidence that says there may be a reason why he’s sooooo smart. Katie Allison Granju has more on the link between breastfeeding and IQ.

Bumbo cuteness

We have a little foam molded baby containment device called a Bumbo.

They’ve recently been “recalled” – because they’re not really safe on elevated surfaces. Several babies have flipped out and fallen. Well, duh. We do use ours on elevated surfaces, largely because we’re too old and crickety to really get down on the ground, plus Cletus likes to be able to look us in the eye. But you don’t leave a baby unattended on a raised surface – or even on the ground – in one of these things.

But the recall isn’t really a recall. All you get is a sticker saying not to use it on an elevated surface. My packaging and I think the Bumbo itself say not to use on a raised surface. But I’ve never been that good at following instructions.

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Some people love the bumbo, some babies don’t really take to them. Our little guy really likes to be upright, so it’s been a really good product for us. Plus he looks so cute in them.

But even I gotta admit, it’s not as cute as these Bumbo movies.

Bumbo I
Bumbo II
Bumbo III

And unlike most series – the sequels are better. Bumbo II and III are hilarious.

Real names

I named lil Cletus after my grandfather, my mom’s dad. He also has my surname as a second middle name and, of course, his dad’s last name. Yes, it’s a poncey, long-winded four moniker solution. It’s a lot of name for a little guy. I couldn’t not give him a second middle name though – since his middle name and his last name put together are the name of a college in Tennessee. Yep, he might have been Cletus followed by Freed Hardeman, David Lipscomb, Carson Newman, Austin Peay or Volunteer State without the clever inclusion of an additional name. I’d be looking into possible scholarships, but that would mean he’d have to go to one of those schools.

Like any expectant couple, we played the name game. Only with boys’ names, there was no contest, no discussion even. I was firm on my selection. And everybody, and I mean everybody seemed happy with that. This is largely because my grandfather was a widely respected, well-liked fellow who exuded integrity and honesty and affability. On girls’ names, we struggled a little. He likes girly names and I like names that conjure up images of iron maidens. For example, I really like the name Gudrun. Even though I’d never have the guts to use it, I really like it.

I have some very strict guidelines about names. It has to be a real name, in common (though perhaps not frequent) usage in English speaking countries. It should not be a faddish name – either in beginnings or endings. (Here’s a great post from the Baby Name Wizard blog about trends in name endings). And I have some other pet peeves, too. Are you using a surname as a first name? That’s fine – but is that a family surname? Are you actually entitled to it? I hate youneek (unique) spellings, too. I also dislike nicknames given instead of full actual names – like Will, not William on the birth certificate. Seriously, parents they don’t charge more for the extra ink.

Are any of these you – or your kids? Well, sorry. Sort of. I guess. No, actually not really. And some of my own family have done these things.

On my baby discussion forum there were endless, endless polls of names – people wanting feedback on a potential baby name and then getting really upset when they got it.

Here’s one:

What do you think of the name Lacey Lane Lastname? Be honest.

OK, honestly? Honestly, that sounds like a stripper name. Yep, thanks mom and dad for saving your baby from a fun night of coming up with a porn star alias.

But that’s hardly the worst of it. Over at Suburban Turmoil, Lindsay (is that a family name?) has compiled a list of some the worst baby names ever. My nomination – Truly Scrumptious* – made it to the finals. But the best (worst) one in my opinion is….Crystal Meth.

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*a co-worker’s friend’s partner named his daughter from a previous relationship Truly Scrumptious, a character in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.

Every two hours

Cletus was always a good sleeper. At just over a week old, he would go four, five or sometimes up to six hours at a stretch. At just over six weeks old, he was “sleeping through”, going down somewhere between 8:30 and 10 pm, and waking up somewhere between 5:30 am (on a bad night) all the way up to 7 on a rare lucky morning.

Wow! I praised my lucky stars. I believed I might have stumbled on some kind of slacker method of baby control.

Of course, on the downside, Cletus was a skinny little fellow and a slow gainer.

Well, lately he seems to be chubbing up and growing and now he’s waking every two hours through the night – ravenous. I’m tired.

Baby’s first trip to the pub

We’re baaad parents.

It was only afterwards that we noticed that his hand is actually on the pint. Don’t worry, though it’s not as bad as it looks. This is only a shandy – half beer and half lemonade (Brit lemonade – it’s like Sprite)

This was the night of England’s loss to the Springboks in the Rugby World Cup and Tennessee’s unfortunate loss to the Alabama.

At least we got one thing right, notice the boy’s little socks.