The weekly Mothers In the Legal Profession Roundup is hosted on a rotating basis at the Butterflyfish, Grace, BJJ, Law, and Living, Mommy and the Sin City, Magic Cookie, The Reluctant Grownup, and Perspectives of a Hard Boiled Egg blogs.
This edition of the Roundup covers posts from July 28 – August 3.
We MILPs, we are a fecund, fertile group. At any given time about 20% of us are pregnant, and this week three lovely ladies in this list are brainstorming names for the wee darling little
parasites fetuses that shall be joining the growing posse of MILP-offspring very soon. So, in order to help ya’ll out, I pulled some baby-naming instructions off the interwebs. This week’s theme is Naming The Baby. (And please, my dears, for the love of god, don’t do this to your child.)
**all bold italic quotes taken from here.
How your baby’s name sounds when it’s said aloud is one of the most essential things to think about. Is it melodious? Harsh? Does it go well with your last name?
I personally think Tenders Wonderland is a pretty darn melodious name, myself.
An unusual name has the advantage of making the bearer stand out from the crowd.
I’ve always thought “Vue” was a weird name for a car, but am still sorry to see QH’s Vue kick it, even if it is “just a car.” Chin up, QH, you are a coping superstar and we are all cheering for you to get through this latest roadblock.
And never let anyone pressure you into a name you don’t like.
This may be a problem for FOTD, since either her or her husband are going to have to give in! (HINT HINT IT’S HIM AND WE ALL KNOW IT BUT YOU CAN LET HIM THINK OTHERWISE FOR A LITTLE WHILE).
Take ideas graciously, but don’t tell anyone what you and your partner have decided until after the baby is born — when it’s too late to give in to any subtle hints.
Although I agree with Frenchie that it’s ok to share the name you’ve picked once you’re fully sold on it, given the response she’s getting to her (lovely) chosen name, perhaps she and I are wrong and should have followed this advice! That said, she did get some good help with buying a family car - we have a Pilot also, and love it!
Many parents choose to name their babies after a grandparent, other relative, or close friend.
FOTD (in her second post of the week) heads to family reunion, continues to take pregnancy completely in stride. Meanwhile, Daisy JD also has a vacation with family, then sets up the virtual vacay slideshow and offers us a glimpse of her fun week, followed by some meal planning at home.
Keep a list of favorite names handy so you can add to it whenever a name pops into your head.
But I Do titles this post with just such a list . . . a terrible, terrible list, what we call in the law “the parade of horribles.” But I Do . . . I hope you survived that crazy day!
The derivation of your baby’s name is something you may want to think about.
I’m not sure what “Cora” means, but based on the pix in Lag Liv’s latest post, it’s probably something along the lines of FREAKING ADORABLE.
Be aware of what your child’s initials spell.
I suspect that neither Kate nor the rest of us MILPs would ever want to accidentally give a child the initials MPRE – too many bad memories!
AND LAST BUT NOT LEAST:
Perfect Yellow Yolk posts a lovely poem that inspired the theme of Naming the Baby. Go read it. Gives me chills, and the very teeny tiniest bit of sadness that it is something I will never do again.
And in closing, I will post my own poem – not one I wrote, but one I was introduced to shortly after Craig was born, and which still makes me tear up when I read it.
Thirty-Six Weeks, by Emily Grosholz
Ringed like a tree or planet, I’ve begun
to feel encompassing,
and so must seem to my inhabitant
who wakes and sleeps in me, and has his being,
who’d like to go out walking after supper
although he never leaves the dining room,
timid, insouciant, dancing on the ceiling.
I’m his roof, his walls, his musty cellar,
lined with untapped bottles of blue wine.
His beach, his seashell combers
tuned to the minor tides of my placenta,
wound in the single chamber of my whorl.
His park, a veiny meadow
plumped and watered for his ruminations,
a friendly climate, sun and rain combined
in one warm season underneath my heart.
Beyond my infinite dark sphere of flesh
and fluid, he can hear two voices talking:
his mother’s alto and his father’s tenor
aligned in conversation.
Two distant voices, singing beyond the pillars
of his archaic Mediterranean,
reminding him to dream
the emerald outness of a brave new world.
Sail, little craft, at your appointed hour,
your head the prow, your lungs the sails
and engine, belly the seaworthy nave,
and see me face to face:
No world, no palace, no Egyptian goddess
starred over heaven’s poles,
only your pale, impatient, opened mother
reaching to touch you after the long wait.
Only one of two, beside your father,
speaking a language soon to be your own.
And strangely, brightly clouding out behind us,
at last you’ll recognize
the greater earth you used to take me for,
ocean of air and orbit of the skies.