An Olive by any other name...

Being known as so-n-so's sister for most my life, I've learned that when someone calls me by name, they are usually a friend, or a barista.  What's in a name?  There is so much in a name that I've never taken it lightly, so much so that even before being fruitful and multiplying, I had a bit of an obsession with names.  I read name tags and badges.  I try to remember the name of every person I encountered in the day.  I take note of a name who's face brought some sunshine into my day.  I go as far as looking up name origins of those sour apples in my life to validate they're living up to the intent of their call sign.  So when it came time to pick a name for our bun in the oven, one boy and one girl, we started with agreeing on the 'maybes' and the 'absolutely nots'. 

Mostly during road trips or walks around the grocery store James and I would shoot out names and see which list it made.  As expected the majority were 'absolutely nots'.  We both knew long ago that our first born son would be Liam Daniel, legally known as William; a tribute to my dad.  So it was a matter of the possibility of a lady baby.  I don't recall what brought me to think of it, but once the name hit the airwaves it seemed to fit just right. 

I love Olive, and olives (preferably black ones).  So expecting everyone was "normal" like me, I thought the majority of the nation would therefore love it too, but the responses haven't been unanimous...

"That is my favorite name in the whole world." - friend
"Why Olive?" - co-worker
"I love her name!" - friend
"How did you come up with that?" - waitress
"Are you gonna call her Olly?" - co-worker
"Is it a family name?" - church member
"Really?  I like Olivia." - boss
"What? Oh no, you can't do that to her." - employee

And then my personal favorite came about during our first family excursion to a restaurant:

IHOP waitress: "what's her name?"
Me: "Olive"
IHOP waitress: looks at me, looks at James, repeats twice and then asks "Who did that?"

Yes I wanted to slap her.  No, I didn't.

For 31 Years...

Here we go... blog post numero uno.

We're almost 3 months into a family of 3 now, and life has taken a whole new hue for me and the hub.  We knew that life would "never be the same" as many told us, but I never knew that life's color wheel would take on a new vibrant shade.  The red ring around her lips and eyebrows when the collection of gases has proven too much for her wee little body.  The soft blue shadow of street lights revealing her snuggled sleepy face as we take our evening walks.  The mustardy yellow of a formula-fed baby's pant present.  The glow of a green night light when stopping in for a midnight peek.  The most surprising however has to be my new fondness to the second most popular baby girl color choice: purple.  Little purple dresses, little purple bows, little purple sockies for her little purple toes.  I like purple.  For 31 years I've disliked this royal color choice.  For 31 years I've been told "that color really looks good on you" or it "goes with your skin tone" and grudgingly smiled and resisted embracing this shade.  For 31 years little to no traces of purple in my closet, in my dresser, or on my feet.  For 31 years, no purple for me; no purple dresses, no purple bows, no purple sockies for my purple toes.  For 31 years, I didn't like purple...until I met her. 

First pre-birth prediction proven: life WILL never be the same.