Two years ago tonight, I vividly remember eating Italian food (goat-cheese-stuffed-ravioli accompanied by white creamy delicious cream sauce. All smothered with sprinkles parmesan. I did say VIVIDLY), while contemplating how much i was gonna miss being a mother of 1… I was hours away from being a mother of 2. AND mother of a boy. In my fantasy world, i was going to be the BEST mother of ALL girls. And ONLY girls. Girls and I are tight. I got this. I'm a girl. Who hard can RAISING a girl be… And Boys and me are just… Complicated. That's another story. Point is: i can't possibly be responsible for raising a boy. That's just SO TOO complicated, and WAY above my head. Well… i was doing such a stellar job raising my girl gremlin, why not try it with a boy gremlin… I'm told boy gremlins LOVE LOVE LOVE their mommies. Alright. Fine. Universe tossing me a bone…
Back to the story: if you've ever been pregnant or ever been in the same room as a pregnant woman, you have been witnessed to the excruciating emotional roller coaster that brings havoc to all lives. This starts from the moment you even discuss getting pregnant. No joke. So i was 9 months in, with a wild toddler by my side. And AGONIZING about the fact that my dear boy was exiting the womb WITHOUT a name…. A name is EVERYTHING. It's what your nickname is based on. It's what you carry from your parents. It's the ONLY and LAST thing we pick before you have an opinion. And we didn't have one. Unlike for our #1, for whom we had 11 names on our bank of name on our iPhones. And voila for a boy. NONE. No bueno at all.
Crying about it wasn't helping… i tried that a lot. Screaming at my dear husband wasn't helping. I tried that even more. Thinking about it a million hours a day letting it consume me wasn't helping. i did that from the moment i heard BOY. So after 7 months of these shenanigans, we decided that in this moment of emotional intensity, we are going with the flow, and wing this. Let big sis name him for all we care. It doesn't matter. Well that didn't work either… I relaxed for all of 2 seconds.
So on that night, we seriously contemplated his name… We calmly discussed it over my ravioli like civilized folks. Only one name stood out above all others: Blaise. Child #1 couldn't pronounce it, hubby's cheeks sunk in when he said it. I kindly tilted my head when hubby kept using the name in sentences… ah whatever. Clearly this was the winner. Thinking whatever while naming your child must work, right…? We were good. Now we could go to the maternity ward in the morning, and let them cut him out. Now i can sleep (insert MASSIVE sarcasm emoji).
Fast-forwarding past fasting for 12hours, gruesome delivery, syncopal episode (look it up if unfamiliar), and sensational drugs that only worked on one side of my body, I graciously allowed my OB to professionally cut out my child from my uterus for the second time. Awesome. Here comes our little giant weighing in at 10lbs3oz. What a catch. I lost instantaneously 10lbs, best diet ever. Once reunited, we look at his giant bald head and cellulite. In unison, we say that's not a Blaise. We look away and say that's Mathieu. Done. Sealed. Next.
It isn't a coincidence that this beast of a hurricane MATTHEW is coming onto land and pouncing on FL/SC/GA/NC tonight… as my own storm bounced onto this earth exactly 2 years ago. Turns out, his name is quite fitting. Come on, who are we kidding, Blaise? It's not Apple, North, or Sunshine, but just as ridiculous for our family… We prefer our little giant. Happy Birthday my little giant. Our pumpkin.
Stay safe everyone on East Coast. Hunker down. Keep some water, wine, diet-coke, and bread close. Ramen too.
