There is a high profile person in Perth who has recently become the father to a healthy baby girl (as opposed to a fully grown one). She is beautiful and the mother is by all accounts a very lovely and organised person.

The baby was born on the 14th March and to date the babe is not named.

Now there are probably very good reasons for that. Who knows what is going on with them.

But I find it hard to imagine going three weeks without naming my babes. I think I took one look at my babes as they were laid on my chest and said “Welcome to the world little Hugamuga/Dippity”, barely seconds old.

With Hugamuga we’d had a tulmultuous time… first births often are. I’d gone into labour two days before and after getting to 8cm and having my waters broken in the home birth centre at the hospital it was decided to transfer to the hospital proper – so I could have an epidural and a rest.

Things didn’t proceed well – the baby was posterior and presenting the widest part of his head – and I was transferred from the labour ward to theatre, prepped for an emergency caeser and they tried first to suction him out… yep, I got the cut.

I was pretty high on drugs at this point but what I remember is that the doctor was pulling on the suction thingy and the bed started going with it. The brakes weren’t on!

Then we heard a loud sucky sound and we thought – omg! Here he/she comes! Then there was a loud theatrical “pop” and the suction cap fell off and the doctor went flying.

The monitoring equipment went wild and it was decided they couldn’t wait for a caeser – they just had to rip him out. The student midwives observing at the back of the room visibly winced as the forceps went in and Hugamuga came out. (that’s not a good sign)

He scored 4 on his first apgar, and 8 on his second. He looked like a little blue frog with a squashed nose and bruises on his head both where the suction cup had been and by his ears – like sideburns – where the forceps were clamped. But he was okay. Safe. Yes a rocky landing but the plane didn’t crash. I was lucky.
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Meanwhile at the other end of the bed the doctor was busy practicing his needlepoint. Third degree tear. 40 stitches. Please remember I’m still very high on drugs. “So you won’t be able to have sex for two months and you’ll need to take laxitives regularly for 6…” sew sew sew… “Oh,” says I, “So I guess anal sex is out of the question?” The midwives glare at Groover. I was joking! I think I’m hysterically funny. “Don’t distract the doctor darling”, says Groover, “you need him to concentrate at the moment…”

But I digress what were we talking about again???

That’s right. Names.

I don’t think I’m especially well organised but I did have the name thing organised. We’d agreed on both a boys and a girls name for Hugamuga… he would have been Madeleine if a girl.

And for Dippity we had a deal, Groover got to name the baby if a boy – Declan (hmmm not so much) – and I got to name her if she was a girl, which happily, she was. But again no delay.

So (finally) here’s my question. Did it take you a while to name your babies?

And if so, why?

Religious reasons perhaps? You’re the Crown Prince of Denmark maybe? You had the baby unexpectedly early?

I’d love to know your story…