More on Baby Names

Here's what denizen's of NYC are naming their kids. Guess it's a slow news day for the Journal?

On Choosing a Child's Name to Avoid Grammar Controversy

Picking a name for your kid is a daunting task. Conventionally speaking, he or she will be stuck with it for this rest of his or her life. I was pretty sure that MacBaby's name would be a variation on one specific names. One name ended with an "s" the other did not.

While MacDad and I were a both big fans of the name that ended with "s," let's say it was Aloysius, I could envision confusion looming in his future. Let's say he's in first grade and is writing a paper about his favorite cartoon character. Would he say "Aloysius' favorite cartoon character is Mickey Mouse?" Or, would he opt for the newly fashionable, "Aloysius's favorite cartoon character is Mickey Mouse," which I hate.

Not wanting to seem old-fashioned in in my use of apostrophe's following an "s," I opted to avoid the controversy by choosing the version of the name that ended with a less contentious constant. Perhaps that is a silly reason for picking a name, but I tried to have my bases covered with simple possessive usage.

Did any (seemingly) strange thoughts led to your child's name?

Prolonged Blog Absence Explained

In contemplating this blog, I've wondered how to strike a good balance with topics. In everyday conversations, parents often brag or complain about their children, neither of which interested me for the purpose of this blog. I've struggled with how much personal information to disclose, what constitutes TMI.

This summer, MacDad and I experienced a few situations that left me thinking: why have I never heard of anyone else going through this? In an effort to help others realize that these events are more common than suspected, I'm going to share.

In mid-July, I found out I was pregnant. The first few weeks developed similarly to my pregnancy with MacBaby. I was hungry and proceeded to eat constantly. Two weeks after confirming the good news, I felt nauseous all the time. Because I had two early miscarriages before MacBaby, my lady doctor monitored my HCG levels, which progressed as expected. Also because of the previous miscarriages, we went in for an early ultrasound.

Miraculously, I went into the doctor's office right on time, but MacDad was running late. I had an preview of my uterus, which appeared empty except for a placenta. He explained a phenomenon I had never heard before, the missed miscarriage. At this early stage, it would have meant that the pregnancy did not take, but my body proceeded as though I were pregnant. He suggested we continue monitoring my pregnancy hormones, then scheduled a follow up ultrasound for the next week. He gave us a 10 percent chance that perhaps I was pregnant, and that, for some reason, the fetus was not yet visible by ultrasound.

MacDad went home immediately to Google, alerting us of another trend, the misdiagnosed missed miscarriage, a topic recently covered in Babble. Trigger-happy doctors impatient to wait until the next week (or weeks) to determine if the pregnancy is indeed viable abort fetuses based on the immediate diagnosis. We learned of one woman who didn't see her baby on the ultrasound until her 12th week!

Needless to say, I was not in the mood to write about any of this. We had told a few people about the pregnancy, but didn't continue sharing. Meanwhile, my stomach grew and I continued to feel like crap.

Determined to wait a reasonable length of time before deciding our next steps, we went to our appointment a week later (MacDad was on time for this one). Hopeful to end our anxiety, we were relieved to see a tiny bean with a heartbeat on the screen.

That weekend, I swapped my maternity gear for my regular clothes, continued trying not to vomit, spread the good news and proceeded as expectant parents. MacDad traveled for work almost every week, I let the laundry pile in heaps.

With MacDad on the road and my mom watching MacBaby, I ventured to the doctor solo for my 10 week visit. In the car, I remembered feeling excited for my appointments during the previous pregnancy, but now I felt, anxious, almost dreading going to the office. Later, my doctor shared that maybe my body was trying to tell me something.

My feelings, it turned out, were justified. On this ultrasound a heartbeat was absent. The baby measured only at 7 weeks. It had died only days after our last visit.

My parents met me at the doctor's office and we looked for a more hopeful result on a secondary ultrasound. Unfortunately, the diagnosis remained. I arranged for a D&C, not wanting to spend more time looking and feeling pregnant with no positive outcome. MacDad drove home at 3 a.m. from out of town to be there for the procedure.

The doctor assured me that I suffered only from bad luck and nothing I did caused the miscarriage. But you still have to wonder. Did my anxiety make the baby feel unwanted? Was it the glass of wine I had before I knew I was expecting? If 20 percent of pregnancies turn out this way, why didn't I ever hear anyone talk about it happening to them? No celebrities who announce their pregnancy have to say never mind. It didn't make sense. Why did it seem like the only person who suffered miscarriages?

It's not that I wanted everyone I know to have the same experience, but if it happens to two out of ten pregnant women, then they must be out there. Within a week, I learned of two other women who had miscarriages the same week that I did with a D&D to follow. And then, there were celebrities talking about similar issues.

With these events six weeks behind us, I'm left with an extra ten pounds and the annoyance of having to answer questions about my due date. One particularly sensitive fellow asked if I was sure when I told him there was no baby. I'm pretty sure, dude.

MacDad and I have done a pretty good job of keeping the miscarriage in perspective. Yes, it was sad, but it could have been worse. Not to mention, we have our good egg at home who's eager to hang out with us. Even at 5:45 a.m. I welcome his first "mama" of the day.

With a little distance, I've realized that it might help me to write about it. And, it may help others who have also had miscarriages to realize they're not the only one. We'll probably try to conceive again, but this time I'll probably keep the news to myself for awhile, even if a baby bump is obvious. When the time's right to share, I will.

Why I Love Amy Bloom

Because she articulates my beliefs on this topic, I'm posting below an excerpt from Slate.com's conversation on who gets to be a feminist by Amy Bloom:

On one hand, I feel about this the way my father felt about Jews. If you want to call yourself a Jew (God help you), who are we to object? Mazel tov. You're a Jew; here's an eggroll. Unfortunately, feminism requires a better standard.

Being a feminist does not mean "I'm a woman who has accomplished things in the non-domestic world." Being African-American and on the Supreme Court does not make Clarence Thomas a Civil Rights activist; it makes him a product of the Civil Rights Movement. Feminism, I'm pretty sure, means a commitment to equal opportunity, equal ability, and equal potential for all women. It doesn't mean (and I realize that reasonable women differ on the definition of feminism—that's why it's feminism and not algebra) that a possession of a womb brings with it a special spiritual gift, or that women are avatars of goodness, entitled to yell, "Misogynist!" whenever it is to their advantage.

I like my feminists witty, dignified, left-leaning and short on self-aggrandizement—but they don't always come that way. If Sarah Palin explicitly supports equal pay for equal work, subsidized day care, Title IX, and the Lilly Ledbetter Fair Pay Act, she's a feminist. If she understands that she is a product of feminism and is prepared to pursue its goals, I can give her a pass on abortion because there are, apparently, honest-to-God feminists who believe that abortion is murder and even though I think that that's not true, I have to respect that (I guess.) But there is no such thing as free market/anti-legislation/I've-got-mine feminism.

I admire Sandra Day O'Connor and Eleanor Roosevelt and their dedication to the cause of feminism. And I admire Sarah Palin's way with a soundbite. But I know and she knows that she's not a feminist; she's a Palinist.—Amy Bloom

Choo Choo Time

Some might think that living two blocks away from train tracks could be a disadvantage. But for MacBaby, it's produced a love of trains, more commonly know in our house as the choo choo. This choo choo obsession led to nightly walks to catch a glimpse of the train and a major investment in Thomas the Train paraphernalia.

But, most importantly, MacBaby's interest in trains led MacDad to develop his first iphone app! Inspired to create something that would capture MacBaby's attention when we missed the train on our walks, his game incorporates a train that encounters many animals, all which the appropriate sound when you press them.

Needless to say, MacBaby has a great time with the app. He frequently carries our phones around asking for choo choo. When he plays the game, we always see a big smile on his face. Here's a review and a video clip of the game.

If you're interested in downloading the app to your phone, you can check it out here. Let us know if your kid has fun playing the game! Also, feel free to leave other suggestions on other iphone apps for kids. We'll put MacDad to work!

He Screams for Ice Cream -- Literally

Our pediatrician tells us that MacBaby (now MacToddler, but I'll stick with MacBaby for consistency purposes) is a good eater. He loves his fruits and veggies and has been known to snack on noodles at all hours of the day.

But the kid's got a serious sweet tooth. Since his first birthday, I knew we were in trouble. He learned to say "ice cream" soon after his first bite. His love for cake and cookies know no bounds. We mistakenly picked up a birthday cake for my brother in the middle of the day, and the kid screamed in the store. He was not about to wait until after dinner for the opportunity to smear icing all over his face.

While I've been known to sneak MacBaby the occasional sweet treat, I turn a request down at the same time everyday -- bedtime. You would think that favorite children's books would bring pleasure to parent and child as they wind down their day. But, these innocuous stories end up with the boy running town the stairs begging for cake.

Take, for example, The Very Hungry Caterpillar. There is one page in this book that MacBaby immediately turns to. Not the page listing the caterpillar's fruit intake for the week, but the page filled with junk food. He points out the cake, pie and ice cream followed by a "yum." At least the watermelon and cheese bring us back to healthy.

Good Night Little Bear is no better. The story comes to a crux when father bear sneakily eats a piece of chocolate cake to find little bear. Sometimes the reading of this page ends with tears when MacBaby realizes there will be no cake for him. Don't even get me started on The Poky Little Puppy, but least favorite children's book ever. Not only is the book long and boring, but it is all about dessert. MacBaby has never had strawberry shortcake, and yet he knows he would like it. Clearly, there was no childhood obesity epidemic when these books were published.

Our compromise seems to be Sammy the Seal. Like his impressionable father who must have a Whopper after seeing a Burger King commercial, MacBaby demands a banana when he sees what the monkey in the zoo are consuming. So, he gets a banana before bed.

How do you balance sweets and good treats? Are you surprised about the number of bad food influences lurking in the pages of your kids' books?