Meet Queen Ovaltine

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When my mother was pregnant with me she did something quite stupid.  She let my brothers pick out my name.  Since my brothers didn't want any stinking baby girls in their house, they only picked out one name for their new baby brother.  The consensus was that the newest member to their band of brothers would take HIS rightful place amongst them with the name of Jimmy.  When I arrived that Labor Day many moons ago, much to their surprise and major disappointment, I was that stinking baby girl they didn't want!  This created quite the dilemma of coming up with a name to put on my birth certificate. No, "Shithead" wasn't in the book of baby names that year or else I'm sure that would have been my name. 

Why my mother didn't have my brothers pick out two names (just in case) really baffles me. Why she didn't encourage them to be more receptive to the possibility of having a sister is ludicrous. Why she didn't just name me Jimmy anyways or maybe something close to Jimmy like Jamie to ease the sting my brothers felt has always puzzled me.  It was almost like they were set up to resent me right from the start. My mother even bought into the whole idea of me being a boy by not having a secret back-up name picked out for me if I was a girl.  WTF?  Welcome to the family, you stinking baby girl with no name! You little unwelcome shithead!

When my mother started having children, she claimed if she ever had the little girl she claimed she wanted so much she would name her Debbie.  Is my name Debbie? NO!  The reason I wasn't given that name is because my aunt had a girl a year or so before I arrived and named her Debbie.  Since the RULEBOOK clearly states that there can only be one Debbie per family, it was back to the drawing board when it came time to name me.  I guess that RULEBOOK didn't include chapters covering things like choosing a back-up name or selecting a middle name either.  I hope those chapters are included now so little shitheads like me aren't stuck with lame names (Moon Unit comes to mind) and no middle names.

Where my mother came up with the name Karen has always been a mystery to me. She doesn't even know. Was it one of the "hot" females names that year? Nope! Was it a family name? Nope! Was I named after a family friend? Nope! I guess they just tossed some names in a hat and picked one and forgot to pick a second one for a middle name. I guess picking the name Karen was such a grueling task that no one could come up with or even suggest a possible middle name to go with it.  I can almost picture how the whole thing happened. Throughout my life I have gone through the list of female names many times and have found a handful of names that would have fit nicely with Karen.  Each time I find one that "fits," it makes that old nagging feeling of being unimportant rear its ugly head and makes me wonder why my own family couldn't have picked a sweet little name for their new bundle of joy new little shithead. 

One of the many reasons I grew up feeling like a such a freak was due to my lack of having a middle name.  I guess it may seem trivial to most people, but most people have a middle name.  Most people are designed to fit in right from the get go and were not given an instant
conversation piece.  Whenever asked what my middle name is, I always get that "Yeah, right!" look when I tell people I don't have one.  Most people immediately think I'm lying to cover up the fact that I got stuck with some horrendous name like Gertrude or Bertha (my apologies to all the Gertrude's and Bertha's in the world, but your name sucks in my humble opinion).  Maybe I'm just jealous because I don't have a middle name. When left to my own devices (which is a dangerous thing to do), I gave myself my own unique middle name.  My story of having a mother who craved Ovaltine while she was pregnant with me is a much nicer one to tell people than describing how braindead my family can be at times.  So there you have it...I named myself.  Bing! Bang! Boom!

Now to add insult to injury, I always thought it sucked being born on September 5th. The year I was born (the wheel still hadn't been invented), September 5th fell on Labor Day (the first Monday of September). The main reason I felt as I did about my birthday was because many times my birthday fell on the first day of school.  For a child, that seemed like a fate worse than death. After becoming a parent, the first day of school seemed like a blessing! During those years when my birthday fell on the first day of school, I always felt like my birthday was the secondary event of the day almost like an afterthought.  I guess that was due to all the chaos the first day of school brings to any household.  My parents had 4 children to get ready for school and send on our way out the door and into the caring tutelage of our new brain bruisers, the teachers.

Monday's child is fair of face,
Tuesday's child is full of grace,
Wednesday's child is full of woe,
Thursday's child has far to go,
Friday's child is loving and giving,
Saturday's child works hard for a living,
But the child who is born on the Sabbath Day
Is bonny and blithe and good and gay.
Risk takers
Good sense of humor
Hard working
Attention seeking

Famous last born children: Howard Stern, Jay Leno, Ralph Nadar, Bill Gates and Danny DeVito
Tend to go against the norm
Make the biggest stirs in life
Know no boundaries

My youngest son was born on Labor Day also and the doctor who delivered him was born on Labor Day. We were all 25 years apart.

My great grandfather and I shared the same birthday and I grew up to share the same profession. My grandmother died on my 9th birthday.

Recently I looked up what famous people were also born on my birthday or I on theirs:
Freddie Mercury, Jack Daniel, Jesse James and Raquel Welsh. 

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