Lily looking suspiciously like a Czeczian refugee
I was putting Lily to bed tonight, and she asked to hear the story of the day of her birth again. She asks for this story whenever she's trying to put off going to sleep...after books, after two or three made-up stories, a Joni Mitchell/Carpenters song, and "Good night"s.
So I relented, recounting the whole day for her, as I have so many times before. I told her about going into labor on Halloween morning, bouncing on a yoga ball between contractions in the living room while making mix CDs, and dashing to the hospital as the freakshow pain of cervical dilation began to truly kick my ass.
I told her about Shawn and I utilizing our birthing class yogic chanting to try and alleviate the rolling, 20-foot waves of agonizing labor pains (I dulled that part down, of course), to Lily's first moments on the outside of my body and how I cried and said, "She looks like her uncle Aaron."
Lily again asked about her name. "You know it's a family name, baby." I said. "It was your great-grandma Bonnie's mother's name. She had 16 children and lived in Iowa. Her name was actually Lillian, but everyone called her Lily."
Lily thought about this, and said, "I want you to call me Felicity now."
I looked at her in the dim light of her princess night light. "Um, no." Then, " Why?"
"Because Felicity is the only name that I like."
"Well, but your name is Lily. We love the name Lily. It's a beautiful name, honey."
And she wrinkled her forehead, as if deep in thought. Then, "When I am eleven I am changing my name to Felicity."
3 minutes ago