What's in a name?

I don't know if other families out there find it easy to name their babies, but for B and I this process has involved two rounds of months-long testing, trying, researching, shortlisting, trying again, and finally, throwing caution to the wind and choosing!

We wanted to name this baby as soon as possible, so T could learn the name and begin to associate the bump of mommy's tummy with the real, live, baby that will be hanging out in her house (a lot), come November. It still took us eight of this little guy's 9-10 months' inside to decide! And now that she knows, trying to keep it a secret until the birth has become futile.

The process to choose a name was made a little more complicated by the first and middle name we chose for T, honoring her two maternal grandmothers. We found ourselves in a complicated bargaining process - how to choose a name from each family, reversing the order of lineage that we used for T to be fair, keeping the second middle and last names to be the same for our nuclear family, and maybe, just maybe, fitting in a name that we really liked just in and of itself. All without burdening this little guy with a string of monikers so long he would have to risk committing fraud every time he filled out an official document.

So what is it already?!

;-)

Early on I fell in love with the name Noah. I don't know any Noah's personally but those I know of and hear of are sweet and caring, living up to their name's meaning: restful, comfort.

Which just left the middle name. After wrestling for ages with other family names that we also liked, I woke up one morning, turned to B and asked, what do you think about your name? Neither of us had ever suggested this, and B immediately choked up. That solidified it, leading us to start/continue a family tradition to give the first boy's father's name as a middle name (as B has).

It's now wonderful to be calling him by his name. T loves saying it, and telling anyone and everyone who will listen about her "baby brudder, Noah!" She especially likes talking to him when he's kicking (aka trying to stretch out my poor stomach for more space in these last few, increasingly cramped weeks!).

We can't wait to meet you, Noah.

My first heartbreak

They warned me there'd be a day where those dreaded words would come...

"I hate you Mama!"

I'm prepared for that. I imagine they'll be said in (hopefully) a fit of rage, after she hasn't gotten her own way... I hope she won't mean it; that what she hates is a decision, an action, not me.

What I wasn't prepared for was 8:30 p.m. on a Friday night, no rage in sight. A smiling, happy little two year old, brushing her teeth with me at the mirror, warm in her PJ's, about to choose a bedtime story...

"I want to sleep with Dada."

At first it didn't really sink in. There might have even been a moment of relief - boy, that makes things easier! Last week we bought (and I assembled) a huge, full-size twin "kids" bed from IKEA, complete with star canopy (it flips into a bunk bed when needed). The plan was to have B and I take turns sleeping in there with her, until she was back to sleeping through the night and he could put her down and go to her if she woke; freeing me to nurse and care for the newborn we'll have in 10 short weeks.

Tonight was supposed to be my night with her. Last night was B's, but she asked for me, so I joined them for the first few hours before slipping out to our more comfortable and spacious bed for a much-needed pass-out after a very long week.

I realized was a bit taken back by the certainty of this new request.

"You don't want to sleep with Mama?"

"No. T sleep in T's big girl bed with Dada."

Oh. She means it. She doesn't want me tonight. She'd prefer Dada.

I managed to hold it together till I'd conveyed the message and B had gone to put on his pajamas. Hiding in the kitchen in tears, I tried to reason with my emotions. Listening to them chatter as they got ready for bed, T telling him again about their day together, even including me and her "little brother" in an imaginary car ride, I knew I should feel happiness; pride that my daughter and her father had grown so close. That she felt so comfortable with him now. Even practically, that this was a necessary development that we'd been stressing and strategizing about in preparation for the baby coming. I should be thrilled.

Instead I felt like my first crush had just asked another girl to the dance. At the root of my heartbreak was the realization that her words had spoken to my biggest fear, that my desire to work would render me an absentee parent who's main function was to bring home a paycheck. That "Dada" would be the one to run to for comfort or to share celebration. The one she'd prefer read her a bedtime story or snuggled with as she went to sleep. The one she could trust to be there for her.

I understand this may seem trivial to many. I am having a hard time wrapping my head around why such a simple request hit such a nerve. Maybe I can blame hormones for my heightened sensitivity.

All I know is that about 30 minutes after I started this post, I heard a familiar voice call "I want Mama..." I don't think I even brushed my teeth before jumping into bed beside a squished B and a familiarly splayed-out 2 year old. I buried my nose in her hair and she threw her arm around my neck plonking her cheek on my forehead. I think it's the best sleep I've had in months.

On gratitude

To quote the great Albus Dumbledore, "Help will always come to those who ask."

OK, it's not a literal translation, which has something about wizarding school Hogwarts, but for me, for now, it carries the message. One of the strongest realizations in my life, and certainly in my life as a parent, is that you get by with a lot of help from your friends. And family. And the other special people the universe brings to your doorstep just when it seems you really need them.

It feels like the more upheaval our lives go through, the more we feel the safety net that holds us. Lately, this has come in the form of kindness and generosity from just about everyone we know.

Our parents and siblings have provided unconditional love and shocking generosity (both financial and in-kind) over the last two years in ways that continually amaze me. Old friends have kept close, despite the stubborn miles we have put between us for the last many years; many choosing to take the time and expense to come visit since we moved here (it is a lot closer than East Africa or Central Asia). And with our move to a new, unfamiliar city, new jobs and new roles as parents, new friends have come into our lives just when we needed them, providing a social family to help us raise T and make this home.

Indeed, thinking back I really don't know how we would have made it through without these people bringing just what we needed (often more) right when we needed it most.

A little closer to home, every post in this blog speaks silently or overtly of my closest rope- B. With each passing year our lines have become more intertwined, finding ways to offer support and safety as we each navigate our lives as individuals, husband and wife, professionals and parents. When I feel myself falling he's the first (closest and strongest) rope I reach for; but more importantly perhaps, he's often the one I'm holding onto when my balance is already off. He steadies me like no other. I realize over and over that he's the perfect fit for me, a loving, caring, beautiful person, who has been as true a partner in parenting as he has been for our other adventures over the last seven years.

And then there's little T. Many of these posts focus on the challenges of parenthood. They definitely exist, but I hope the joys are at least equally as evident. In reality, they blind the challenges with a light that would outshine the sun. Even in moments of mothering frustration, looking at her, really looking at her, I feel that same painful tear in my heart that opened when I first laid eyes on her. The feeling of my heart expanding to encompass a person instantly, unconditionally, eternally. She makes me happier than I have ever known.

It all makes J.K. Rowling's fantastical plot seem down right ordinary. Title character's story arises from his mother's willingness to die for him. Check. Title character survives with help from his friends. Check. Aforementioned headmaster's magical proclamation that help will come to those who ask. It seems our universe is on the same page.

To the universe and all of you, thank you.