‘Unusual’ baby names. We’ve gone too far.

I am a member of a parenting group on Facebook, it’s huge and in addition to women posting obviously positive pregnancy tests and asking what everyone thinks… (We think it’s positive. Because it’s positive. Like the example on the box that the test comes in. And the instruction leaflet contained within the box…) people ask for name ideas.

The most common post is something along the lines of ‘Baby girl/boy due in x weeks, really struggling for names, give me your unusual baby names.’

Always the want of ‘unusual’. Then they come, many sound like they were thought up under the influence of strong non-prescription drugs.

Now I’m not here to tell you what to call your child but for goodness sake your child has to live with this name. They have to write it on marriage certificates and drivers licenses and have it called out in school and during appointments, it will be the first thing potential employers know about them. So perhaps spread your net a little wider than Facebook.

The problem is everyone is so obsessed with their child being unique.

Your child will be unique. They will be the only the only version of themselves. They’ll grow and amaze you and make you proud. They’ll excel at some things, and struggle with others. There are so many ways they will distinguish themselves and their name will just be a name.

My name is not common and it’s a boy’s name. And I hated it as a child. I could never (and still can’t) find it on pens, key rings and bookmarks in souvenir shops. I didn’t know a single other person with my name and I longed for a ‘normal’ name. I cursed my mother for not calling me ‘Jenny’. And for having the following conversation too many times:

‘Yes Chesney, yes it is a boy’s name. Yes I’m a girl. My mum thought it suited either. No, nothing to do with ‘Chesney Hawks’ yes I’m sure, I was already in school when his song came out. Oh right now you’re singing I am the one and only. No that’s not the first time I’ve heard that joke. Actually it’s after Chesney Allen. No not many people have heard of him. Do you know the song ‘Run Rabbit’ from the Second World War? No I don’t suppose you do. Well he sang that. Yes I do know there is a Chesney in Coronation Street. No I don’t watch it. Can you excuse me I’d like to go stab myself in the face.’

DO YOU WANT TO LEAVE YOUR CHILDREN TO THOSE KIND OF SHIT CONVERSATIONS?

Or imagine this:

‘Mummy’

‘Yes, Sunset -Rose-Ocean-Banana?

‘How did I get my name?’

‘A random stranger on Facebook suggested it sweetheart’

Really? Arsecloud is rather unique as a name for a person but you won’t find me rushing to get it on a birth certificate.

So please, think about this. There is a very fine line between ‘unusual’ and ‘stupid’, I think we’ve all seen enough internet to know society won’t be kind.

In other news:

Got the glitter glue out earlier. The boy actually enjoyed being creative. We’ve just got to wait four years for it to dry.

I correctly predicted that I wouldn’t sleep last night and have been a bit of a shouty mama today. I have zero tolerance for Paw Patrol related tantrums.

I thought it would be nice to have a hot chocolate with the Bald Kitten earlier. I was wrong. It’s all over the sofa, all over him and for some reason I can’t fathom he kept putting his fist in it.

Advertisements

Shopping Woes.

It’s official.

Shopping is now shit.

This is aside from the fact that there is naf all attire for preggos on the high street.

It’s the behaviour of my son. He is now a ball bag of monumental proportions anytime we go near anything that resembles a shop. For starters HE WILL NOT GO IN HIS PUSHCHAIR. I made the fatal mistake of putting him in one on Friday after a coffee with mum in Waterstones because a game of ‘Put the book back darling’ which in my head was a game of ‘put that fucking book back and finish your drink that I’ve just paid through the arse for!!’

(I’d like to point out we were nowhere near the children’s section, he’d pulled an anthology of poetry off the shelf and when I asked him to put it back he pouted and started bending the book. I took it off him so he didn’t damage it and I’d have to pay a tenner for a massive book of shit poems. Removing the book from his possession caused a screamathon. It’s fun when everyone stares.)

Anyway, I put him in his pushchair. He screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed. He started choking on his own tears. He threw Miaow Miaow on the floor then asked to be handed his beloved soft toy, only to throw the bloody thing on the floor again.

He tried getting out of the straps. I put them back on. More screaming.

Why not let him walk? I hear you cry.

That is indeed an option. But this issue is this: the boy doesn’t run away in shops, he stops.

Dead.

And he

will

not

move.

I coax, bribe, cajole, get firm, pretend to leave and nothing works. The little sod just stands there with his arms crossed frowning at me like I’ve just shit on a puppy. If nothing works I go and get him. I hate physically moving him but I’m not standing in boots for nine hours whilst he looks wistfully at the cover of a craft beer book. I take him by the hand and try to talk him into moving and OF COURSE he’s having none of it. He does that thing kids do and just drops like his bones are jelly. So I pick him up (he’s usually wailing by this point) but I’m pregnant I can’t carry him for long periods of time so the idea is to pick him up calm him down and get him in the pushchair.

Predictably he refuses the pushchair. Says wants to walk. I try to put him down and the kid contorts more than someone having an exorcism in an effort not to let ANY part of him make contact with the floor because he wants to be carried. We then get a repeat of the being put in the pushchair tantrum.

I can take people staring and I can handle the behaviour. But I don’t want to.

I don’t want to have to narrate the whole time, I get sick of the sound of my own bloody voice and exhausted at the same time.

We popped into a shop called Dunelm today. Daddy was with us and the boy performed again. Hubs got gradually more frustrated as behaviour took a nose dive and we left before we’d looked at everything we wanted to.

I get that the shops don’t hold a lot of pull for him, but am I selfish for doing something I want instead of swimming or soft-play for him? I don’t spend long in the shops, I just want to do something adult. I’m already dreading trying to get round the shops with two of them!

In other news:

Potty training imminent.

New bathroom should be finished TOMORROW. I can’t wait for there not to be strangers in my house!

Little pea kicked hard enough for hubs to feel it the other day.

18 weeks – feels remarkably like all the other weeks so far.

My belly is a now constant reminder that I have a little pea swimming about in my uterus. I’m starting to feel the swimming which is very reassuring.

Speaking of swimming, Will started lessons four weeks ago. They’re all about getting the little one used to water and swim ready. There are songs and games and LOTS of splashing. It’s quite a workout for us as there is a lot of throwing the boy around. One of the exercises is to hold a novelty float and kick the water as an adult holds and guides you across the pool. Except Will doesn’t kick. He shouts ‘Weeeeeeeeeeee!’ with his feet sticking out of the water whilst hubs does all the work. It’s funny as hell but a tad frustrating when you’re repeating ‘kick, kick, kick!’ in a high pitched forced enthusiastic voice whilst he has a half an hour rest in the water. Hubs does the lesson with him as I’m not quite in a condition to throw a toddler about. I use the time to swim a few lengths. It’s nice to feel weightless for a bit and will be more so the more massive I get.

Today was busy, I had a lot to contend with; young teenaged girls showing off for the lanky teenaged lifeguard. Families treating the pool like it was a resort fun pool and throwing balls all over the sodding place, lanky teenaged lifeguard not noticing on account of the girls who seemed to be doing a lot of spinning? One of said girls climbed out of the pool in a teeny tiny bikini then slipped over, got up and did the over theatrical hysterical laughing and loudly telling her friend that she had just fallen over, to let anyone who might have seen it happen that she wasn’t completely mortified. I’m frankly quite jealous, if I’d have slipped over like that there’s no way in hell I could have got up so quickly.

We’ve visited friends this weekend and spent Saturday exploring Hampton Court Palace. The boy was fairly well behaved. We had a couple of public meltdowns, he loved stamping his feel in the large wooden floored rooms because it made a great sound. I do feel for the tourists with the audio guides as they had our little foghorn to contend with. The boy doesn’t see a rope barrier as something to keep behind and we uttered several frantic ‘Will, come here!’ Before we were told off or ejected. Although I have to say he senses the desperation in your voice and the more panicked you sound, the less likely he is to come back. Such fun!

We had a long drive home (got to love the M25) so swimming was a welcome stretch after being cooped up. We also had a mega tantrum in the services because we asked the bald kitten to put back a wheeled George Pig book, he didn’t want to put it back, he wanted us to cough up the £8 for it. When it became clear that would not be happening he screamed blue bloody murder. We were stared at. And across the car park as the tantrum continued which only stopped once he was strapped in his car seat. ‘Stopped crying now’ was the sentence for the next few miles.

Swimming has worn him out so definitely an early night. I can’t imagine hubs and I will be up more later. Tomorrow I have my whooping cough jab to look forward to.

In other news:

Marms, the majestic hunter that she is has just tried to catch a fly that’s on the other side of the window pane.

I nearly fainted today, turns out I’m a bit of a fainter in this pregnancy…

Holiday countdown has geared up a notch so the pressure is on to make sure the clothes are clean tomorrow instead of spending the day drinking tea and eating biscuits…

Kids TV – pros and cons

The bald kitten is now taking more of an interest in kids tv. As much as it’s not something I want him watching ALL the time, it definitely has its benefits.

My darling son doesn’t nap in the day anymore. My golden time has gone, so ten minutes of distraction is my time to sit down with a hot drink. It’s also reassuring to know I’ve something to entertain him when I get a few weeks away from my due date. When I’m too massive to get down onto the floor to play with him and walking upstairs to the loo has the same effect as running a marathon. (Or at least how I imagine it feels to run a marathon…)

Popping on the tv means he’s distracted whilst I do the boring household things that need doing, cleaning the sink, bleaching the loo, stuff like I’d rather not do with a toddler around.

There are messages about friendship and kindness in kids tv programmes too. So he’s probably learning something…

The downside of kids tv:

It’s so frigging irritating.

Will’s current favourites are: Bing, Paw Patrol and Twirly Woos.

Twirly Woos- a family of weird round things that live in a boat and communicate through a series of annoying noises. There’s also some sort of pointy owl that I don’t understand the point of. They can sail a ship but concepts such and ‘up’, ‘down’ and ‘around’ are completely new to them.

Paw Patrol – a gang of anthropomorphic dogs with a pre-pubescent overlord. One of said dogs, Marshal, is adored by many but has zero coordination and causes many accidents. Not sure how he made the team. Don’t know why they trust him with a fire truck when he can’t walk into a lift without falling over. Evil mayor seems to persistently evade law enforcement. Evil mayor keeps cats fuelling outdated and inaccurate stereotype of cats being evil. Non evil mayor has unhealthy relationship with a chicken. So far none of the dogs have tried to eat said chicken.

Bing- a small rabbit that makes you fantasise about stabbing yourself in the eyes. Never. Stops. Whining. Lives with weird as yet unidentified creature called ‘Flop’. Flop is either a father figure or serial killer. As Bing is so bloody irritating I’ve been rooting for serial killer for some time now.

Of all the stuff he watches I detest Bing the most. I get he’s supposed to portray a toddler, but I have a toddler. I get listen to enough tantrums/moaning I don’t want a second dose from the tv…

In conclusion: kids tv has its place but: It. Will. Break. You.

If you need me I’ll be telling the boy that the TwirlyWoos, Paw Patrol and Bing are all sleeping so we can’t possibly watch them…

Just keep swimming.

I took the boy swimming today. We haven’t been since he went on holiday last year. We are going away with hubs’ parents this year and whilst he’ll be under constant supervision in the pool, we’d like him to have recent experience of being in water.

As it’s the summer holidays there are plenty of sessions on and after checking the timetable this morning I thought I’d strike whilst the iron is hot.

To my relief as I was checking said timetable the boy did a big poo, meaning i only had to worry about the boy floating in the pool…

I told the boy we were going swimming and he seemed excited. So I’m not sure why, when it came to actually leaving the house he threw an epic tantrum. Crying, folding his arms, throwing himself on the floor. The works. I remained calm. But in these situations ‘What the fuck is wrong now?!’ Is never far from the tip of my tongue. After coaxing him out of the house I carried him to the car still sobbing. I have no idea why he was crying.

We got to the pool and headed to the (slightly grotty) changing room. There were two old ladies getting changed after their swim who told me Will had ‘such an angelic face’ ha! I wonder what they’d have said if they’d seen him 15 minutes earlier. As the ladies were changing he stared at them. I broke out into a cold sweat. This could go one of two ways. 1: he’ll point at their bodies and shout ‘yuk’ as he does to me on a now daily basis. Or 2: he’ll try and ‘tickle’ them which basically involves grabbing body parts and laughing hysterically. Thank god I had my swimsuit on under my clothes! If there was an Olympic medal for speed changing, I’d have won the gold.

We did the walk of humiliation past EVERYONE to get to the pool. The boy was unsure to start with but when he got onto the water enjoyed shouting ‘splash!’ at the top of his lungs, pointing at my boobs and shouting ‘yuk!’ And pulling the front of my swimsuit down. I also got kicked in the fanny repeatedly.

I definitely helicoptered in the pool but I guess when the alternative is him drowning, helicoptering is important. His head went under once, and whilst he wasn’t happy about it it went down better than I expected. Lessons have now been booked on a Daddy can share the ‘fun’.

I couldn’t help but think parenting is a lot like this swimming experience. Sometimes you feel out of your depth, sometimes you can barely keep your head above the water. Sometimes no matter how hard you try, it feels like a constant kick in the fanny. But one day, you’ll not only be floating, you’ll be swimming.

In other news:

The boy is talking more and more, but every now and again will shout something that sounds a lot like ‘dick’.

I have given up on a tidy house. The boy is the anti-tidy.

I shall attempt to make a cake with the boy later, something I may very well regret…

…and I’m broken.

The day started with the boy sat in a puddle of his own urine, and nappy so heavy with the stuff it could have been used to anchor a cruise ship.

We’ve played with the play-doh (two colours only, which I’m pleased to say have not been mixed) watched a few episodes the Twirly Woos (as many as I can watch before I want to slit my own throat. This number is rapidly decreasing.)

Then we went out. Our fridge is empty. Not empty but I could easily whip up two meals… it’s empty empty.

Knowing never to shop on an empty stomach I took the boy into M&S for some lunch. Will decided he wanted to sit on my lap, as that was the best place to be to wipe pasta sauce all over my clothes. Refusing to eat most of his pasta but giving all my food a good fingering I gave up on the whole lunch idea and headed to Tesco. I had the pushchair but Will was not strapped in, he was walking beside it. That way if he gets tired it’s there but I can also put my shopping basket in it and avoid the whole trolley tantrum scenario.

As we neared Next I decided to pop in and check the sale for boy’s sandals. The smell coming off his is quite frankly a health hazzard but due to the fashion season all I can get in the shops now are wellies and winter boots (just in time for August!) crocs and croc like shoes are available but no way in hell am I putting my boy in them. It’s bad enough pretending I don’t know my own mum when she insists on wearing them on holiday.

We got to the entrance and Will stopped in the doorway. He kept saying ‘bus’ I assume he meant the both shit and astronomically expensive kiddy ride outside Tesco. (A quid?! You can fuck right off!)

He wouldn’t move. And started to cry. No biggie. I tried the old walkin’ away trick. He moved closer but then started wailing so I decided the best course of action was to put him in his pushchair. That was a mistake.

He unleashed the demon.

And I burst into tears. In a shop. In public. I tried to power through. The boy was still screaming and I received a filthy look from a woman with a perhaps nine year old boy, obviously suffering from memory loss. Either that or her son was a robot.

Turns out I was unable to power through. Instead of buying much needed groceries we went to the car. Will looked confused as he was strapped into his car seat by a blubbering mess. The mess that sat in the car park for five minutes (crying) before driving home (still crying).

We got into the house, the boy had clearly forgotten his tantrum and tucked his Hey Duggee ‘Happy’ soft toy under my arm. (No, the irony was not lost on me.)

I’m not cross with the boy. He’s just being two. But I’m furious with myself for letting his tantrum get to me, and putting on such a spectacular public show of how not to parent. Or even adult. Surely I should have this down by now? To to be perfectly honest he’s done worse and that hasn’t made me spend the afternoon crying on and off.

I think I’m getting a migraine. Icing and cake much?

In other news:

Apparently when will yells ‘Fanny’ he means ‘rain’.

The boy pulled my dress up when I was getting off the loo, pointed at my lady parts and said ‘yuk’ earlier today. Do I top myself now or later?

The cats are taking advantage of the wet weather to get filthy and leave footprints all over the duvet. A hobby they’ve not had the opportunity to indulge in for quite some time.

Shopping with two under fives: The reason why I’ll be drinking tonight.

On Fridays I’m looking after my nephew whilst my sister is on a course. It’s lovely to spend time with the ‘phew, and Will adores ‘Nenny’.

When he arrived he asked if we could go to soft play. Request denied. I told him it was closed, but the truth is we went last Friday and I’d rather stick hot pins in my eyes than go two weeks on the trot. Especially as last week I came closer than I ever have to throwing an obnoxious little shit off the highest point I could find. His crime? I am 99% certain he threw a ball at William, from his reaction and William’s but my back was turned asking Lenny if he wanted lunch. A wizened old crone who smelt of stale cigarettes bade the demon children come for their lunch. She hobbled off on her bunioned feet and the little shits completely ignored her. So that’s why I don’t yet have the mental strength to return. Another thing I’ve noticed about soft play is I collect children. I don’t want to, but they follow me and before I know it I’m surround, whilst their guardians enjoy a coffee in peace.

So soft play was out. I was on ‘mission dress’ I have some weddings coming up and naturally I want to look nice. However I have piled a few pounds on recently and want something flattering. I told the boys I needed to look in two shops and if they were good, I’d take them to McDonalds. Shop one, no good. (The ‘phew had asked a second time if we could go to soft play instead, my ‘no’ was not well received) Shop two. Pick out five dresses. Headed to the changing room. Hadn’t even taken the first one off the hanger and the ‘phew pipes up ‘That’s too small Aunty Chesney’, he was right, curse him. In fact they were all too small. Who needs self confidence?

We went to McDonalds the boys we’re excited, so imagine my surprise when the ‘phew announced he didn’t want anything. ‘So you’re going to watch me and Will eat and sit there with nothing?’ was met with downcast eyes and a surly silence. ‘Well I’m going to order you something’, repeating the options ‘I just have chips’ a small voice pipes up. I add nuggets. What drink do you want? ‘I’ll just have water.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes’.

‘You don’t want orange or a fruit shoot?’

‘Just water please’.

I click on the water pleased we’ve gone to the self service so we don’t go through the decision process with a bored employee and a queue of short tempered patrons. I check the order, click ‘pay’ hear a voice pipe up ‘actually I want orange’.

Wooooooo

Sarrrrrrrrr

It’s too late now. You have Pookie’s fruit shoot and he’ll have your water.

We sit down. Will keeps eating ketchup off his finger until he finds his chicken nuggets. The ‘Phew refuses to eat his chicken nuggets. I tell him it’s okay, we’ll take them home for Mummy. We troop back to the car, to find some bint has parked so close I can only just squeeze myself in. (Regretting the quarter pounder and all other food choices for the past six months) I look for my novelty notepad, that thanks a driver for parking so close and advises them to take a bus in future, although there are a fair few expletives thrown in for good measure. Pad is not in the glove box. Curses. Woman who can’t park turns up and gives me evils!! I understand how ‘ordinary’ people suddenly go on killing sprees. Start the engine, focusing on the sanctuary that is home. The ‘Phew pipes up, ‘ I want my chicken nuggets now’.

Sorry Sis, no nuggets for you!

The afternoon has followed a similar pattern, my darling son keeps throwing himself on the floor and wailing. Most recently because I wouldn’t let him eat a bag of brown sugar. I’ve given him a yogurt but most of it is in the carpet. FFS.

In other news!

The boy is ‘counting’ to four. (Well he can say the numbers one to four, he has no real concept of numbers yet, but don’t shit on my parade okay?)

The boy also climbed out of his cot, I fear bedtimes will never be the same again.

I still have nothing to wear to a wedding.