On (Re)naming an Adopted Child

The boys have been talking about what their names would have been had they been girls. Gray would have been Ana (these were pre-Frozen times, people). Reed would have been Fern. And Miles would have been Brooke. Funny how, even though they are boys, those other names still seem to suit them. Or maybe mother dreams just have a way of sticking.

I’ve thought about names a lot lately. We submitted our last piece of adoption assessment paperwork last week. (By this point, I feel we should be cleared for jobs with the FBI or CIA — we have been fingerprinted NINE combined times and evaluated from angles I didn’t know we had. Wondering why I haven’t been writing much? My hand is still cramped up from recording my relationship history from the 90s to the present day on more than one form. But I digress.) 

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What’s in a Name? (And What the Heck is a Stacy?)

Last night, my girlfriends and I went out to a movie and some much-needed post-holiday catch-up time. My friend Jenny and I ended the night like we often do, sitting in a minivan way later than when we intended to go home (so, like 10:00) talking about parenting and relationships and mindful living and Michael Jackson.

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