In Daily life on July 6, 2010 at 6:55 pm

            The moment a woman knows she is pregnant the name game starts.  The name game in our house has always been left up to my husband.  If I have to suffer 9 months of indigestion, reflux, weight gain, varicose veins, mood swings and a baby kicking my insides like some tae kwon do champion then that is the least he can do.  However something that should be so simple often becomes this obsessive issue that goes on for almost the entire pregnancy.  He insists on ensuring that each child has a proper middle name so that the child’s initials means something. 

            For example my oldest daughters initials are M.I.K. giving her the nick name MIK, Joshua’s are JFK, Sebastian’s SDK, Arielle ASK, Zachary ZAK, and Ryley RAK – my husband likes this one the best and says hopefully Ryley will be a boob man when he gets older so he can really appreciate the initials – I think my husband is just a pig.

            Now I must give him credit, the children have lovely names and wonderful initials that mean something (to him at least) however, six children later I can’t even remember who is who.

            The children seem to believe there is something Freudian in the entire name calling thing.  Their attempts to make me feel guilty by claiming that if I really loved them I wouldn’t forget who they are, is useless. I love Mary……. Dick……. Trisha …….. Sam ……… and with the same affection I love Jake ……. Marie ……. Ryley….. Sab ….. okay they know who they are.

            It is a good day when I actually remember what I called the child for in the first place, let alone what their name is.  I mean really they should be grateful for that at least!  Maybe because there are so many children running around and then add the fact that I have lost so many brain cells, I get confused.  I came up with a pretty good solution though.  I call them by number.  “Hey number one get down here!”  Marie is old enough and bright enough to know that she is the first born so typically she will respond. 

            Some don’t get it though like lucky number three Sebastian.  I shouted out to him several times the other day.  “Josh……. Marie……. er…..er…..Sam….number three! Okay how long to have to shout before you answer me?”

            “When you get it right!” he shouted back.

            “Well I was close…wasn’t I?”

            “Sam was sort of close.”

            “Hmmm I always like the name Sam.  I should have told Daddy to give you that name.” I mused.

            “Why then did you name me Sebastian?” He demanded.

            “Well daddy liked it, and it was easy for me to remember.”


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