It’s the first of the month, which means it’s blog exchange time again. This month’s theme is What’s in a Name? Please welcome this month’s guest blogger, Amy from Chicken and Cheese! And don’t forget to check out my post over at her blog!

I never liked my name. Call my name in a crowded mall and you’ll see at least five heads swivel. My name is so common among my age group that I was “Amy H.” until I went to college. While this allowed me to frequently skip a particular class in high school – the teacher always blamed it on Amy I. – I felt I deserved a more unique moniker.

I grew up and grew into my name. It wasn’t just my name, it was my byline — of which I was very proud. I worked hard to achieve my dream, and here it was. A byline! My name! In the newspaper! On a story! That I wrote!

Years later my Plain-Jane Name begat my husband, Channing. He relishes his unusual handle, and it suits him perfectly. He could not be an Albert, or a Harold, or even a Tom or Jim. He is, without a doubt, a Channing.

So when it came time to choose a name for our baby we both understood how daunting a task was at hand. She would carry this label for life. It would, to a great extent, define her in the eyes of others. Let’s be honest – how many people would hire a woman whose resume announced her as “Peachez?”

We had a list. We bought a book. We love traditional names like Genevieve, Evangeline, and Madeleine. Beautiful as they are, we feared they were too trendy. After months of debate, we narrowed it down to two – Matilda and Emmeline.

Both names got mixed reviews, but we didn’t care. I leaned toward Matilda (a family name) while Channing lobbied hard for Emmeline.

Sitting in the doctor’s office after our first ultrasound, we debated again. I caved. Channing won.

Today we have Emmie. She is Emmie, Emmeline, The Poo, the Poodaloo, the Poodalee, Emmie P., Bubbaloo, Baby Girl, Sweetheart and Lovey.

She carries the name of Britain’s leading suffragette, Emmeline Pankhurst. She carries my maiden name in honor of my father. Her name is suitable for Chief Justice, an architect, an engineer, a novelist, or a mommy.

And when she grows up we’ll tell her we almost named her Matilda. She’ll look at us and wrinkle her nose. “Matilda?” she’ll say. “I’m glad I’m Emmie.”

I’m glad, too.

– Amy is a SAHM to her high-energy toddler and a freelance writer. She is soon to be transplanted from her upstate NY home to the Midwest, where she plans to learn 1,000 recipes for corn.

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This post is part of a June Blog Exchange on the theme “What’s in a Name?” Click here to read more. And, if you’d like to participate, email Kristen at kmei26 at yahoo.com.

I was browsing the web news last night and came across this article. Were Angelina Jolie and I to ever be stuck somewhere together and in need of conversation, we now have something in common. We both had c-sections due to a stubborn breech baby.

Sure, it could have been an excuse, but I doubt it. No other celebrity has used the breech excuse yet, so I don’t think they realize what a good excuse it is. Breech births are supposedly extremely rare – 3-5% of all births, it is said.

Now I wonder what type of breech baby she had. Cordelia was the rarest form of breech – complete breech. Footling and Frank breech are the most common ones, but complete breech occurs in about 10% of breech babies. Imagine a baby sitting upright, cross-legged, as if in a yoga meditation pose. Her base is as wide as possible at the bottom. That would be my daughter.

Early on in the pregnancy she had been flipping every which way. When we got to 32 weeks, I went in for my checkup and told the doctor I thought she was breech. The doctor laughed it away, saying that it was rare for the baby to be breech at this point. I asked about the large, round, hard object that was stuck up in my ribs, and she said it was likely the baby’s butt. I asked her to feel it again, and she did, and then her expression soured slightly. “Maybe that is her head. Let’s check.”

In the ultrasound room, I was treated to a lovely transvaginal ultrasound, since the doctor was still fairly certain she would see a baby skull resting on top of my cervix. She was very quiet for a moment, and then said, “Well, it’s definitely a girl. And that’s not a skull.”

My triumph of being right lasted only seconds, due to the realization that being breech made a natural birth difficult or impossible. I went in for several more checks, until we realized at 37 weeks that Cordy was not changing positions at all, despite me trying everything to convince her to turn. Since complete breech is the most dangerous type to attempt a vaginal delivery, we opted for the c-section for her safety.

So if I ever get the chance to speak with Angelina Jolie, you can bet I’ll be asking her what type of breech Shiloh was, and ask if she wants to compare scars.

By the way, Aaron’s 3rd interview for the state job is at 1:30pm. (It was scheduled for last Friday, but got rescheduled.) Please continue sparing any positive thoughts, prayers, anything you can our way. The check engine light on Aaron’s car came on this weekend, so now both cars are possibly in need of serious repair. We need this job!

Everyone needs a little guilty pleasure now and then. For some, it’s reading the National Enquirer or Star. For others, it’s My Super Sweet 16 or American Idol. Still others (usually guys) use their time off to play video games nonstop. Whether it’s trashy romance novels with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s or comic books and Mountain Dew, we all have a secret pleasure that we indulge in, slightly embarrassed of our enjoyment and hoping that the people we admire will never find out.

Well, because I love to share my secrets with all of you, I’m going to put it out there for you. I love watching the Maury Povich Show.

Maury used to be your average talkshow, but during the Springer years, when suddenly talkshows were divided into the respectable Oprah and the redneck Springer, they realized they needed a niche. They found their niche in five topics:

• I Was a Dork, but Look How Hot I Am Now!
• My Two Year Old Weighs 150 Pounds
• Is This a Woman or a Man in Drag?
• Lie Detector Tests Revealed
• Six Men Tested – Who’s the Father?

While all of these can be amusing, Maury really shines when it comes to Paternity Test shows. If you ever start to feel superior to other people in the world, just watch one of these episodes to help you realize that Western society is not nearly as civilized as we think it is.

I especially love the guests who are already on their 6th appearance, still trying to find the father of their child. They introduce the 12th guy to be tested, and the woman is always yelling, “I KNOW he’s my baby’s daddy! I am 110% positive!”

The guy, of course, nearly always denies it. Some of my favorite excuses include, “We only had sex one time!” “I only make boys, and she has a girl!” and “I’ve never even slept with that slut” I especially like the last one when it turns out the guy is the father. I’m still waiting for them to explain that one.

Then there are the women who like to keep it in the family, and so bring their boyfriend, and either their boyfriend’s cousin, father, or brother along to test.

Of course, sometimes it’s the men who call the show, wanting to know if they really are the father of their child. They come onto the show, angry, saying how their wife/girlfriend has “always been a slut” and “I know she’s been cheatin’ on me.” They harass and insult the woman all the way up until the results are revealed. When the child ends up being their kid, suddenly they’re saying, “I knew it all along! I love you, baby. You’re the only one for me.” I keep waiting for one of these women to smack the hell out of these guys and tell them where they can stick it.

I admit I love this melodrama. I enjoy looking at the pictures and making my guess, based on both sides of the story, who the baby belongs to. It’s scary how accurate I’ve become.

I also find the continuous plethora of guests for this type of show to be sad. It amazes me that there are that many mothers out there who genuinely do not know the father of their child. In the case of women who have tested 6 or more men, my mind boggles: how in the world did you manage to sleep with that many men in that short period of time? It’s also sad how many of the men on the show say that they have other children, often from different mothers.

I try not to wonder about the future of these children. That would spoil the voyeuristic fun of the show and might just make me cry.

Now, no worries about Cordy seeing this trash TV. I never watch it with her around. This is reserved only for when I’m home sick, or if she’s napping. God forbid I let her see that people like that can get fame on TV. Wouldn’t want her to have a dream of being on Maury someday.

We’ve had a great weekend, and I’m exhausted, so please enjoy these videos of Cordy for tonight. For those who haven’t been here all that long, you will also now have the privilege(?) of hearing my voice.

Cordy saying mama:

Our little musical genius, playing piano and singing along with it. (For the record, we have no idea what she’s singing.)

And finally, Cordy waves bye bye.

Yesterday I spent the day at a baby shower, but this wasn’t your typical pregnant-woman baby shower. The baby was 10 months old, and the parents looked nothing like her.

My cousin and his wife were unable to have children biologically, so they adopted a baby girl from China. I had mentioned that they were matched with her two months ago. Since then, they flew to China, went through the entire adoption process, and returned home with Mia. Yesterday they came to town so the entire family could meet the new addition and offer up some gifts to help the new parents out.

First off, I’m so happy for them. My cousin and his wife are two of the nicest people I know. They deserve to be parents, and I know they’re going to be wonderful parents. At the same time, this little girl, who spent the first 9 months of her life in an orphanage as one of many mouths to feed and one of many in need of comfort, will now have as much love and cuddles as she can handle.

She’s an adorable little girl, and quite the social butterfly. She happily let anyone hold her, and smiled at everyone, although she still knew her parents. Whenever my cousin walked in the room, she’d spy him right away and start babbling “Dadadadada!” while bouncing up and down. She still has trouble sitting up, but now that she doesn’t have to contend with many other children for attention she will probably advance in her physical development quickly.

Her parents are clearly smitten as well. Still trying to figure out the ropes of parenting, they jump at the slightest protest from her and happily offer her anything her heart desires. My cousin’s wife has quit her job to stay home with Mia. (My cousin’s job requires that he travels often, so it worked out well for them.) They are all slowly figuring each other out, and the parents are already discussing wanting a brother for Mia someday.

It was a wonderful party, and I got to spend time with many relatives that I don’t get to see nearly enough. Cordelia was there as well, and I wish I could say she charmed everyone. Instead, she chose yesterday to be one of her cranky days. She clung to me the first 15 minutes, then slowly warmed up to the crowd, although she wouldn’t let anyone touch her or pick her up. Typical.

I also noticed that my daughter really is a loner. I have a gazillion cousins, and (now) all of them have children, so there were a lot of babies there. While the other babies and toddlers played together, Cordy was content to hide in the dining room, away from everyone, taking Jordan almonds out of the bowl and lining them up along the edge of the table.

After I stopped that game and brought her back into the family room with everyone, she quickly disappeared again and I found her in another room, pushing an empty stroller back and forth. Every five minutes, I found myself looking around the room, wondering Where’s my child?

No matter how much I tried to get her to stay in the family room and play with the toys and kids there, she would jump on the first opportunity to slip away to a quieter area of the house. Do I have an anti-social child? Or is she just too cool for that crowd?

We left after Cordy had a gigantic meltdown due to missing her nap. As I tried to make my rounds and hug everyone, Cordy screamed in each person’s face if they attempted to touch her or even so much as make eye contact. My grandmother was a little upset that her great-granddaughter wouldn’t even look at her. Although, to be honest, she has somewhere around 20 great-grandchildren at the moment, so really, what’s one unfriendly one, right?

But overall it was a good day, and I’m so, so, so happy for my cousin, his wife, and their new daughter, Mia.