So last night at dinner M1 was actually engaging in a conversation, yes I did mark the calendar. She was asking me questions about all the doctors I was seeing and why. I explained it simply but not detailed as I did not want to worry her. Well then the conversation took a turn for the funny.
We talked about names and I am truly blessed as I had the chance to talk to their Mom about why the kids are named what they are and why. I treasure this knowledge because I know most adoptive parents don’t have that nugget. But last night M1 said to me “No no tell us the story of your name!!” and M2 chimed right in.
OK story goes like this….my parents were literally just married when they conceived me. Literally I am the honey moon baby and was born prior to them being married a year. Now my old world friends no worries I was born 10 months after their marriage and 8 months after the honey moon. Did you catch the math error there? Yes I was born prematurely and my very young parents (who are both only children) had not yet come up with a name. They agreed on what my middle name would be but what they could not agree on a first name. They debated back and forth and suddenly oh crud there is baby and we have no name. Can’t register it as Baby Girl ANYM now can we???
Legend has it (as confirmed by my parents) that when I was delivered the doctor made an expletive comment. The actual comment became the first part of my first name. Yes folks you read that correctly, the doctor exclaimed something at my deliver and I was justly named. Now no to worry it is fairly common but still, really guys the doctor named me?!?!?! I am an expletive in a foreign language did I mention that???
The next part they love me to tell them is “your Gramma and your name!!!” OK back story I am the oldest, this means I was born first. Are we tracking? When my grandmother would get upset she would yell ” J****, M****, S**** whichever the hell one you are get in here!!!!” Umm Gram I am the one you left out entirely heeeheeee
The conversation continued “Mom how many languages can you speak?” (2, 3 if you count ASL). “Mom how many languages can you swear in? (4) Yes I can curse in English, ASL, French and Gaelic thanks to my Grandmother. I know no friendly words in Gaelic but put me in the military I can hold my own. They dissolved into laughter as I told the stories of me being a brat to my mother and the consequent fall out. No nothin too juicy but enough that she can put together pieces.
So we had a good laugh and off to Tae Kwon Do we went. Fun times but very interesting.