the names i chose for my kids reveal all my secrets

at least this article (and many others like it) seems to suggest.

http://www.vat19.com/blog/2009/03/what_your_babys_name_says_abou.html#more

now here's the story behind my boys' names.

Jackson Douglas comes from Jack Austin Stotts and my son's father, Douglas Edward Clark, Jr. In junior high school, Jack was my boyfriend. I was in the same class as his younger brother, Jared. I met Jack on Halloween night. He was wearing a way-too-large dress and motherfuckin' army jump boots. Of course my 14 year old self found this level of ridiculous to be so charming that I tormented myself for a few months with the notion of "love" for this scrawny, bald boy who seemed to care only for NIN, drums and military fatigue pants. He later joined the national guard while attending college at UCA in Arkansas, and in the wee hours of the morning after Valentine's day, he was gunned down in a robbery while working his shitty convenience store job that he had taken so as not to be a financial burden upon his family while he was in school. He was an extremely intelligent, hilarious, controversial, admirable, obnoxious, blunt, enigmatic figure. My cozy little group of outcasts had zero problem absorbing him into our ranks immediately, though we rarely let anyone in. Every group has criteria, even when they're the schoolyard social group of people everyone else avoids. I adored Jack. I spent hours poring over the notes he wrote to me, having my 2 best friends assist me in the deciphering of his horribly unintelligible left-handed chickenscratch cursive writing. To this day, there are still portions of those letters that have never been decoded. Worst handwriting ever. But my son, Jack, was named for this guy. He seems to suit the name well. Jack #1's parents (Jack and Leisa) are my Jack's "godparents" despite the fact that neither my ex-husband nor I believe in the christian "god". We both believed that if anything ever happened to us, that Jack and Leisa would be some of the absolute best influences our developing son could ever have. We were not wrong. To add to all of this, when I learned I was pregnant and we told them about the whole thing, it seemed to help draw them out of their mourning. When we discovered we were having a boy, we had already decided that his name would be Jack. The "Douglas" aspect came later. He was always Jack. They seemed to know and appreciate this fact. It had been less than a year by this time. I was so out of it on the day I gave birth that I do not remember a lot of the details, but I do know that Leisa was there. I remember her bringing me a potted Calla Lily (my absolute fave ever) and she later told me that prior to my epidural, she had stepped out in the hall when her daughter, Jasmine, called. Jasmine commented that she could hear me screaming. I find this slightly amusing now, because the epidural followed by the birth of my very first, unbelievably perfect and gorgeous child has managed to wipe away the specifics of the pain that I had endured. Oh sure, I remember that it was unbearable. I remember my mother crying and begging me to get the epidural because it was killing her to see me in so much pain (this is one of the only times in my life that I have ever seen my mom lose her composure). I remember Doug trying to sleep until the active labor phase (I was induced) but being unable to do so because I was in and out of screaming pain or just general bitching about something being uncomfortable, and I know I felt guilty because he had not slept in about 24 hours, due to working nights, coming home and then driving us both to the hospital for my induction. I remember my ex mother-in-law, Dee, being there and being so helpful in telling the nurses exactly what I needed even when I did not know myself. But the intensity of the pain? I remember it as an abstract concept. I remember it like one of those thermometer charts for charity. I know what it means when I recall the "fullness" of that "thermometer" but I have lost the details of that sharpness. This, I think, is what enables women to give birth more than once. If we did not forget that physical trauma the way we do, this species would have likely died off centuries before any sort of pain relief was discovered. Regardless of this tangent and anything else I had ever planned for, dreamed of, believed in, Jackson Douglas Clark was born at 1:22 p.m. on March 11, 2003 at 8 lbs, 5 oz and in that split second, he destroyed everything I knew and replaced it with everything I never dreamed I wanted to know. My Jacks were both huge learning experiences. The Jack I still have around manages to teach me something new even when I haven't heard a thing from him. Just thinking about that kid manages to inspire me. At some point, I will discuss his Asperger's and all the ways it makes him even more impressive, but I should probably stop rambling about the one son and move on to the other.

Eli was always going to be "Eli" whether he was officially "Elijah" or "Elizabeth." A couple of months before I was pregnant, I had a "pregnancy scare" and Eli's dad and I discussed everything. His mother had died almost a year earlier, and they had a tumultuous relationship, but in true nature, his mom had meant the world to him. I am much the same way. Mom is always the most important, even when she is not the best person in our lives. In his case, "mom" had been named Elizabeth. If my son had been born a daughter, he would have been Elizabeth (maybe "Ann" like his namesake, or "Austin" for his brother's namesake, Jack Austin, or maybe "Anneliese" because I had adored that name for years). We had already chosen "Elijah" for a boy, though the middle name had not been officially chosen when our son opted to arrive almost a month early. Elijah Matisse Fuell was born at 5:12 a.m. on May 19, 2005, weighing in at 6 lbs, 3 oz. There was no epidural (well, there were 2, but both were botched and neither managed to numb anything beyond a 3 inch circle on my left thigh) and I felt every single bit of that baby's birth. Despite the stress and drama (a huge, complicated story that I may or may not cover in the future) it was a much more satisfying birth than that of my older son. I still feel like I accomplished something by having Eli drug-free. I do know that he was able to nurse exclusively from the get-go, while I had to give up after a couple of weeks with Jack due to my body not cooperating with his particular appetite, his latching issues and him ultimately starving. Eli had none of those problems. I brought him home and we hardly got out of bed for over a week. I was just so enamored with him, having time to spend with him completely alone and not distracted by anyone else. Jack was with his dad + granny, Eli's dad was with his girlfriend, I was not working, my family was far away and no one really seemed to understand how alone I truly felt. I was heartbroken at the time, but I am extremely thankful for those days I got to spend when I believed that the only people in my life that were worthwhile were Jack and Eli. It gave me drive and purpose. It put in my mind that the only thing that mattered was that I always chose the least devastating option for them. So yes, while I now live 11 hours away, I timed my exit before I could become that mother who stops protecting her kids. Elijah has been the source of so many joyful memories, along with Jack. They really are the best things that could have ever happened to me, despite me never actually wanting kids of my own.

I've said it dozens of times before, but I cannot wait to watch the people they become.