My timeline on Twitter is currently filled with lots of pregnant ladies. There are so many it feels like there is a mini baby boom going on in my Twittersphere. All are at various stages, some are even prepared with their chosen name for their little one.
It’s reminded me of when Baby Z was born and was completely nameless. We hadn’t picked anything at all and suddenly had to get a massive crack on throwing names around whilst I was hooked up to my saline and morphine drip post my Caesarian.
I was pretty much bed bound the first couple of days and, with the curtain pulled round my little cubicle, I could only hear what the other mums were up to. There was the mum who had sneezed her baby out in about 30 seconds and wanted to go home within an hour of getting onto the ward, the mum who had just had her 3rd and sounded very determined that “this was it, no more!” and the poor girl whose mother in law seemed to be rail roadjng every decision for her, including what to name her baby.
Then there was the horrible cow.
She was diagonally opposite to me and I never got to see her. But my god could I hear her….All night…long. She seemed to not require any sleep whatsoever, despite having just given birth, and prattled on and on and on on her mobile all night long to, probably, her long suffering husband. When she didn’t have the phone on her ear she was constantly asking the midwife to have a soak in the hot tub. Or to be helped out of the hot tub. Or she would be complaining she wasn’t being given enough attention and would request to go home. Then change her mind within a couple of hours. This would go on most of the night too. By night two I was going mental. I just wanted some shut eye and the horrible cow was relentless with her ability to complain all the live long night.
Anyhoo, amongst all this the hubby and I were trying to pick out the perfect name for “Infant H” as he was temporarily labelled. After going through about a hundred I came across a name that sounded so lovely and right. I looked up the meaning and then just knew it was right; “he who God remembers”…. Ahhhhhh. This was it. Baby Z.
So it was almost decided. The hubby has a much longer acceptance process than me so I knew he had to mull it over.
That evening the horrible cow was back on the phone complaining about the midwife, life, the Bounty woman who had asked her to put her phone down because she wanted some photo taking advice and basically the universe whilst I was feeding my Infant H soon to be Baby Z. Then suddenly I heard the horrible cow say something that made me freeze for a moment.
“How about we name him Baby Z?”
What??!! She was stealing my name!! I knew they’d already picked another name the day before but the horrible cow wanted my name. Our name! I was silently livid and had half a mind to try to pick my saline stand up and try to poke her from a distance. How very dare she.
Ofcourse I didn’t. I just fumed in bed and listened to her go on and on and on about how it had a lovely meaning. Yes. A meaning you stole. Stole!!
I told the hubby as soon as he arrived in whispered rage and lots of wild gesturing. He sympathised (I think) but reasoned we may never see them again so it wouldn’t matter… Hmmm.
I needn’t have worried for long. It seems the horrible cow may have had a silent long suffering husband but he still had some fight in the old dog and veto’d the name as they were all leaving to go home with their new baby. It was that day I started walking after my op and if I was any faster I would have followed them just to get a peek at her.
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