Three years ago at exactly this hour, I was being prepped for a magnificent arrival. The operative word “prepped” just doesn’t seem to suffice now. Nothing could have prepared us for our bundle of joy, hours and hours and days and days of laughter and moments of torment that were and are to come with having an adorable, all-embracing little one. At 12:39 on a sunny Tuesday morning, my darling Cutiepie was brought into this world. I thank my lucky stars!!
You know, she wasn’t always Cutiepie? For the first eight hours of her itty bitty life, she was actually Ashley. Yep, Ashley.
The truth be known, we thought she was going to be a boy—or maybe we hoped? There was her older sister Babydoll, and a boywonder would have made them a collector’s set. Early on, we settled on a boy’s name. Realizing there was a 50% chance we could be wrong, we chose Cutiepie as a girl backup.
Somewhere between my 7th month and D-day, my mind wandered. We relocated across the world, we bought a house, we settled into new surroundings and my mind wandered—what other excuses must an expectant gal need? The day before Cutiepie was due I asked DH if he liked the name Ashley. Yes. Can we name the baby Ashley if it is a girl? Ashley for a girl? Yes. Ok, then, it will be Ashley.
This discussion was way too easy, but I was way too pregnant to notice.
And so it went. Or so she came.
Now, remember Babydoll’s arrival just 18 months earlier had been a brutal induction to the worries, fears and scares of parenthood. She arrived via emergency caesarean and was monitored in newborn intensive care unit in San Francisco for four days…before she was kicked out for being too robust a baby. You know there are preemies and special needs babies that need their sleep?, we were told as they asked us to take our healthy loud babe home. We gladly obliged.
However, when we arrived in Ireland, my gynaecologist asked me if I had a preferred delivery method, and before I could open my mouth, DH answered quickly,
“Yes, please schedule a C-section. I can’t go through all that again.”
To which, I said, “Excuse me?”
Funny, I could’ve swore I was the one with the basketball protruding from my belly.
In fairness to DH, he had it tough. Afterall, I was the one on drugs. Following Babydoll's
We scheduled the C-section for a week beyond due date while I secretly hoped for a chance to experience what all those gals drone on and on about: a natural birth.
With no sign of stirring, I was wheeled into the operating room with the anaesthesiologist doing his best to soothe me. He asked, “have you picked a name if it's a girl?” Yes. Ashley.
‘Ashley’s debut was safe and sound with all the routineness of a simple doctor’s appointment. We checked in with reception at 11:02, and at 12:39, she was a screaming and flailing pink wee one.
We greeted the other new moms on the ward and introduced them to Ashley.
I waited the few hours for dawn to rise on California’s sleepy coast and called friends and family and shared the news of Ashley.
DH and I were relaxing and seeping in the smelly and pretty goodness of our newborn delight when, I heard it in his voice.”You know, honey?” Uh-oh.
You see, my DH has a wonderful virtue where he avoids conflict and keeps an easy going attitude. The downside is when he does warrant a change or objection, it very often happens after the fact.
After I introduced all my ward mates to Ashley.
After I called my dearest friends and family in America and announced Ashley’s arrival.
You guessed it. He really doesn’t like the name Ashley. Ashling is a girl’s name in Irish and ‘Ashley’ is too close, yet too different. And, well, most importantly, Ashley is a boy’s name—if you consider Gone With the Wind a guiding factor. For whatever his reason is, he’s the dad and she’s his daughter, he should like what he calls her.
But most importantly, he reminded me of our original choice for Cutiepie. Of course, I said, she is Cutiepie. My mind returned. Now when do I get my memory back?
Happy Birthday Cutiepie!
