TOP 10 WAYS NOT TO NAME A BABY
Peaches Honeyblossom Michelle Charlotte Angel Vanessa Geldof has given birth to a son named Astala Dylan Willow Cohen-Geldof.
The father’s name? Tom. From the band S.C.U.M.
Congrats to the proud parents.
Incidentally, when interviewed about it on Australian radio, Grandpa Geldof had this to say: “Yuck, gawd, that is still the name. I’ve been begging them to change it.
“What’s he going to be called in school? Ass? Stella? It’s a girl’s name, let’s face it.”
Naming your child is one of the greatest privileges you’ll ever have in life. Sometimes it seems parents just can’t handle the responsibility and their brains implode.
Take my mother (please), who tells me that she became so overwhelmed with the possibilities that eventually she took my name from a knitting pattern book.
“I was knitting this lovely little three-piece layette named ‘Wendy’ when I was pregnant with you and I thought, that’ll do,” she tells me.
I’ve always disliked my name. Pity my father didn’t win out with the name he wanted which was Claire. It would have been wonderful to have been named after my beloved Great Aunt.
As the author of the Pearlie in the Park series of fairy books for little girls I’m often graced with a queue of tots adorned with pink sparkly wings and tiaras all clutching my books and waiting for a signature.
This is a wonderful thing, so why do my palms get sweaty?
Because I know I’m in for a giant helping of alphabetti- spaghetti.
There was the gorgeous girlie with a mop of angelic curls who lisped, “My name’s cashmere”.
OK, I thought… soft, cuddly, warm. Like the goat. Noice.
“Ka-sh-im-ere”, spelled her mother. My brain went to mush as I asked her to kindly repeat that.
I’ve seen littlies howl with indignation when I’ve had a stab at “Ashley”, only to be told it’s Ashleigh, Ashlee, Ashly, Ashli, Ashlea, Ash-Lea, Ash-Leigh, Ashe-Lee…or… Arrrrgh-leee!
I feel bad when I get it wrong – even as one uncivilised part of my brain is saying: “This is only the first of a life-long string of disappointments, kiddo. Get used it.”
By the time I get to Kaitlynne, Aidin, Matheau, Maddisen, Shawn, Kaylib, Raychul or Alissia I’m starting to gibber.
After an afternoon of Mikkayalas, Kayleighs, Katlynns, Kmyberleighs, Jorjahs, Jemmers and Cassidees, I’m a blubbering mess.
With six billion people on the planet, it’s hard to find a way to make your offspring stand out from the pack.
But may I kindly suggest that giving your kid a weird name isn’t one of them.
There’s a test every parent should take. How’s it going to sound when they become Prime Minister?
(Although, with “Mitt” a heartbeat away from becoming Leader of the Free World, this is probably useless advice.)
Here’s my list of things you shouldn’t do when you name a child (ditto for getting tattoos).
No child should go through life suffering Post Traumatic Naming Disorder.
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