A Rose By Any Other Name

Two weeks ago I finally got around to legally changing my last name — just in time for my 3-month wedding anniversary. I really went back and forth on whether or not to do it. I’m 40-something years old. (Yes, visit this I know you’re shocked.) I’ve had the name McBryde for all but a 1-year-and-10-month-unfortunate-practice-marriage. My degrees are in McBryde. My nursing license is in McBryde. My whole professional career (for the most part — see above unfortunate practice marriage) has been in the name McBryde. I like this name. It links me to my Scottish ancestry. I like the unique spelling with a Y, viagra not an I. But despite all that, treat I love my husband more. So two weeks ago, I became Stacey Valley. (Actually Stacey McBryde Valley — couldn’t dump the McBryde totally.) And then the tedious process of changing my name EVERYWHERE started. I’m about half way done.

Now I really felt a sense of urgency to change my daughter’s name too. Until Anthony came along, I was her only parent. We are tight. We are a lot alike — even though she’s adopted. Okay, she’s a MINI ME. And she LOVES her name. But today, I legally changed her name to Valley also. She’s still not happy about it — as much as a four-and-a-half-year-old can be upset over a name. She starts pre-K next Monday, so I hope her teacher is patient and can help me reinforce how wonderful this new, shorter, easier-to-spell last name is. So to compensate, I bought her ice cream and we got our toenails painted and we went school clothes shopping. I’m a sucker for bribery.

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