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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.