Okay - I have had a go just to join OP, although I can't claim to be breastfeeding!
Is untitled and a slightly different slant, and intends no offence to anyone.
Aramanita Aurelia Willoughby-Jones
Felt the attraction to the depth of her bones,
Charles Henry George, with the surname of Smythe
Struck her as caring yet amazingly blithe.
She vexed not over blemishes upon his pale skin
Nor fretted over ankles and wrists weakly thin,
For this was true love she had fallen in
So she worried not for his lack of a chin.
They bicycled merrily along by the brook
Where under an oak tree her chasteness he took,
They punted the Cam and to Europe did go
And only half noticed as her belly did grow.
Meanwhile back at the manor, her dear Grandmama
Did voice her own fears that this had gone too far,
So a shot gun was ordered, the church booked in haste
And a dress quickly altered to disguise her thick waist.
The elective was sorted, The Portland was booked
No single requirement was to be overlooked,
The nursery was awash with broderie anglaise
And a nursing chair from which mother could gaze
At the babes as they lay in their self-rocking cots
And the changing tables for changing their bots ?
But that, of course, was for Nanny to do,
For Araminta and Charlie didn?t do poo!
The names were a challenge, they could not agree
Should they settle for Aubrey and Persephone?
Or Rupert or William or Sebastian too
Or Hester, Octavia, Cecilia, Sue?
Should they name after aunties and uncles galore
But old-fashioned names, oh dear, what a bore ?
Finally decided on Christening Day
The boy would be Hugo, the girl, Chardonnay.
The babes had already been listed for school
At thirty grand a year it seemed pretty cool,
The trunks were all packed by the time they turned three
And the Range Rover driven round to make delivery.
For eight months a year they were both sent away
To what was posh borstal, ?tis true to say ?
They returned for the hols? and both brought a chum,
And moved back into the nursery, all was quite glum.
Hugo followed Papa in running the estate,
Like father like son, there could be no mistake,
By thirty the glare could be seen on his head
Where his wispy blond hair had already shed,
He wandered the fields in green wellies and cap,
Was basically friendly but a faint-hearted chap,
Relied on the staff to get the work done
Whilst he roamed through the forests and fired his gun.
For dear Chardonnay life was not to be sweet,
For her only purpose was a young man to meet,
?Twas not a girl?s place for to go out to work
Responsibility should not be shirked.
Her mama encouraged her to heighten her looks,
To play the piano and read sewing books,
To converse in French and embroider a cloth -
To basically live a life full of sloth.
But Chardonnay dreamed of excitement and fun,
And this is what led to her making the run,
She wanted a life of parties and glee,
Of knowing the value of all the money ?
So this is why, should we find her today,
Chardonnay struggles with the rent she must pay,
She balances cash to find the next hit
And heads to the street to turn the next trick.
So make the decision with thought and with care
For the name that you give can be heavy to bear,
Look deep in the eyes of the brand new born tyke ?
And give them a name that you think they will like!