We’ve named her.
Months ago as I began to picture my daughter I wondered many things about her. What does she look like? What does her laugh sound like? How much hair does she have? How many teeth does she have? How old is she? Is she being loved right now? Is she being ignored? When is she arriving? How long will it be until she loves us? How long until she finds her security in us? How long will she have that incredible South African accent? What will her name be? I still don’t know many of the answers to those questions. But I do know one.
I know her name.
I suppose this is an incredible thing for parents to determine anytime a child is entering a family. It is just as special for us. Months ago I began jotting down names for our daughter. And son, because who am I to know what will happen? In moments of solitude I would rattle off my new ideas to my husband, to see if any of them stuck. Months ago, one did. I was elated. As is often in our lives, we agree easily on matters of heart and life. We loved this name. We wouldn’t tell anyone, but we both liked it. It fit perfectly.
Or at least I thought.
I began to in private refer to her with this name, and quite frankly it felt right immediately. But my husband scolded me, “Stop using that name. Stop referring to her as that. We don’t know who she is, and if we call her that now, that will be her name. We won’t feel we have any other options.”
I didn’t think this was an issue. For all the different ways I’ve imagined her, this name worked. But I’ve learned that my husbands wisdom, though not always appreciated is usually right on point. I would stop. At least out loud. And I would try to avoid in my head.
So I continued to add to the list of names to be considered, and rattle off the list from time to time. Three nights ago my husband looked at me, out of the blue and said. “Her name is _______. I’ve decided. I was going to text you a few weeks ago, but I choose to hold off. But that’s her name.” The very name I was trying to ignore.
I was of course elated.
I have pictured her, the first time we meet. Jumping into a summer pool with sweet abandoned. Or chomping down a bowl of cereal with milk dripping off her chin. Her first snow storm. Her first Christmas morning with us. Maybe snuggling into bed on a lazy Saturday morning. Having a crazily messy room. Leaving a trail of mud and toys through our home. Struggling with school work or relationships with friends. Learning the art of sharing. Even as a teen, or young adult. Finding her way, making her way, forging her way. The name fits. That’s who she is.
Her name just rolls of my tongue.
It is so good to know something about my daughter. I know she is loved. I know she is waiting. I know her name. Don’t ask we’re not telling. It’s one of the very few things we know about our family, and we are savoring it as a fine ruby, or in my case a perfect cup of coffee.
But she has a name. She has a purpose. She has life full of love waiting.