The End of an Era

When Josh and I found out we were pregnant, of course we immediately started thinking about baby names. Well, I started throwing a whole bunch of names at him and he was all, woah, slow down, we’ve known about this baby for like five minutes. Anyway. Like the vast majority of couples, I’d say, I presented names to him over the next nine months and he pretty much would just say thumbs up, thumbs down.

So about seven months into the pregnancy, we were 75% settled on the name Adeline Rose or Adeline Jane.

Then, my grandfather passed away. Yes, this is part of the story.

The three most important men in my life: my husband, my dad, my grandfather. I was my grandfather’s darling, no way around he. He loved to relate the story of going to the hospital right after I was born and meeting my dad in the hall and hearing my dad say, “It’s a girl dad, it’s a girl.”

Sometimes, while we were just driving down the road together or watching golf together, Papaw would just look at me and say, “It’s a girl dad, it’s a girl.”

The day after he passed away, I looked at Josh and said, what do you think about the name “Marion?” (Pap’s name was Albert Marion) And Josh said, it’s nice.

I’m sure you see where this post is going now.

When she was just a few hours old and wider awake than any newborn has a right to be, Josh looked at me and said, “I’m pretty sure your grandfather is in the room with us now.” (To put it nicely, sometimes Pap was just a little bit outspoken.)

And Marion Lea she was.

But somehow, over the course of the first few months of her life, Marion became “Mar” and “MarMar” (pronounced mare-mare) and “MarMar,” “Mar” and “Widget” she has remained.

In fact, after Eliza was born and she was big in to introducing herself to everyone, she honestly thought her name was MarMar and we couldn’t get her to say Marion at all.

Today, we were settling in for our afternoon quiet time of a cup of coffee for mama and Dinosaur Train for big sister, I said “MarMar, what show do you want to watch?”

She looked back at me and said “My name isn’t MarMar, mom, it’s Marion.”

She’s been giving her dad grief about that lately, not letting him call her MarMar but I was getting away with it. Until today. Marion it is and I have to do my best to remember not to let it slip and embarrass her before her friends at school.

But Widget, or MarMar or Marion, she’ll always be my baby. Even if she has a more grown up name.

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