“You should have gotten married after Frozen came out.”
“Well, that was quite a few years after dad and I did get married. If we did, then we wouldn’t have had you when we did.”
“Still, I would have much rather been named, Elsa then Emma. So, you should have waited to have me, so you could have named me Elsa.”
“If we would have waited, you most definitely wouldn’t have been you and might even have been a boy.”
“How is that possible?”
“Never mind, that is a conversation for another day indeed.”
“Well, then just call me Elsa now instead, OK?”
Still, I was quite blown away by this above conversation with my almost 6 year old daughter, Emma as we recently ate breakfast.
In one instant, I was brought back to the early days when I was barely pregnant, still not knowing the sex of my unborn child, scouring baby books for the perfect girl or boy name.
On the fateful day just about halfway through my pregnancy, I watched my beautiful baby come across the screen during the sonogram that was to tell us whether we were team pink or team blue.
This is the sonogram where a myriad of different measurements are taken, as well as a grand sweep of organ systems to make sure all is working properly, as well the time to first find out the sex of your baby (if you so choose).
All looked absolutely perfect with our baby’s health. Then the time came for the grand reveal, we were questioned if we would like to know. We both conceded a big fat yes and the tech calmly took her online cursor to point to the baby’s genitalia, there in black and white we saw three lines and the noticeable absence of a penis, which denoted that we were in for a world of pink, because it was indeed a little girl I was carrying.
With tears of joy in my eyes and heart, as well as a massive lump in my throat, I whispered, “Hello Emma Grace” – as this was the name we had decided upon if a little girl was in our future.
Yet now, I was now being told that I made the wrong decision in my choice of names by the little person, who didn’t apparently get a vote all those years ago.
This got me to thinking though, my girl, although not completely grown by any means, is no longer a baby and is most definitely her own person with her own mind full of likes and dislikes.
When I was pregnant with her, I had all these dreams and aspirations for the child, I had yet to even lay eyes on, but now years later I still have my hopes and faith in what lies ahead for her.
How did we get here?
The cherub face toddler, who believed I placed the moon and the stars in the sky just for her, as well as the sun when she woke each morning, now is beginning to question me on one of my first and best duties as her mom.
So now, I may have to concede that I am more a guide then the sole person, who gets to make the call on all the toughest of choices to come her way.
Yet no apologies for my earlier name decision; nor will I be calling Emma, Elsa any time soon!
So it goes, that as mom I was given the privilege and honor to bestow her name upon her.
Like it or not, this is her name for better or worse. Probably the first of many things, she will blame me for (especially in her teen years).
Hell, I wished for years, my mom named me Jennifer instead of Janine (it was the 1980s and Jennifer just happened to be the number one girl’s name), but as stubborn as I am, I have grown to love my name, as it was the name my mom picked out specially for me (thanks mom!).
At the very least it seems, we come full circle and the more things change the more things apparently do stay the same with mothers and daughters.