(Disclaimer: This blog post in no way states that the involved parties are liable for children anytime in the near future. No plans, expressly written or otherwise, are in the works. The writer is not responsible for mental disturbances caused by the reading of this post. Names have been changed to protect the innocent, and maintain some semblance of surprise. Please keep you hands and arms inside the ride at all times...)
So, I think I must just be posting this because I am trying desperately to avoid taking down our Christmas decorations. I honestly can't think of another reason, because I promise at the end of it, you'll think/know that I'm nuts. But for whatever reason...here we go...
Those of you who know me well know that I've had my first two little ladies named since I was a teenager (yes, sometimes I am such a girl). Lucky for me, when Brian came along all those years ago, he quickly jumped on board, fell in love with the names, and whala. Our little pseudo family was born. Middle names were eventually added, hope chests began to fill with things that "will look so cute on Little Lady 1" or "will be perfect for Little Lady 2", and when we talk of kids it's not "when we have our first girl", it's "when we have little lady #1". Yes, the first two girlies are named and part of our little family.
Well, the last month or so, I've been having this recurring nightmare. Over and over. It's always the same. Picture this: One of my dearly beloved friends/family (that would be you) steals one of our names. I proceed to calmly tell them that the name has been dibbed since the 90s, and they proceed to tell me that they know, but don't care. I calmly tell them that's not very nice, and people don't just do that to each other. They say they don't care. I try to explain the sentimental meaning behind each name. They tell me that not only are they naming this one "Little Lady 1", but...wait for it... they are having twins, and will be using "Little Lady 2" as well. This is where I snap.
Those of you who know me well also know that I am not a violent person. I can't even let Brian kill a spider, let alone do it myself. So, imagine my shock when I go totally WWF Wrestling on them and beat them to a pulp. It would almost be comical if I wasn't so upset... I just go...ballistic. And I must confess, even the sweetest and most loved of you out there haven't escaped my fury. (Alisa, I fear I...death dropped you or something! It was definitely Hulk Holgan-esque. And Carly, your poor face was quite carpet burned when I finished the good-cop bad-cop routine with you. And that's just the beginning...don't get me started with the rest of you. It's awful. Kinda comical, but AWFUL!)
But perhaps the worst part of the whole thing is that I wake up feeling...crushed. The violence has luckily worn off, but I just feel...deflated. Like my dreams have been dashed. Worried that it will happen in real life. Really affected. (Yes...some times I really am SUCH a girl. Can anyone out there relate?). Brian doesn't understand it, but tries to help. He's told me that our friends/family aren't evil and love me. He's told me I'm being crazy, and it won't happen in real life. He's laughed (probably not his wisest move). He's cried (ok, he hasn't cried. But if I get to look crazy in this post, he might as well too :)). Nothing works. It takes me a good few hours to snap out of it, and then I can look back and laugh. Almost. :) Off the charts on the crazy scale yet? Yes?
Well, that's really all. I hope it's provided a good...laugh? Your daily dose of fear? Something! But I guess the moral of the story is, please don't crush my name dreams anyone. Or, I might just...crush you? :)
See Amber age while being spoiled.
