Minime is 11 years old today. Hard to imagine that this long-legged creature with the wild curly multi-colored hair rocking out to Sixx AM in my living room is the same wee one born back in ’97.
I didn’t name her until she was born; at the ultrasound, I didn’t ask if it was a boy or a girl–I knew, I understood in my very soul somehow, it was a girl all along, though I was pretty stunned the universe would bestow a girl unto a tomboy sort like me, but it’s just proof that God has a sense of humor.
I know it’s the way of the world to pick your baby names before they’re born. Hell, I know women that knew what they’d be naming their kids long before they’d even met a suitable man to be the father. Not me, though. I knew I’d have to see my little one, I’d have to meet her first. I bounced around some ideas in my head, sure, and rejected about 110 ideas from Mr. Kat 1.0—there’s no way I was going to be the mom of Rainbow Patchouli or Lichen Sprout or Waterfall Sunshine, so all his ideas were a big no go. I didn’t know for sure what her name was, though, until I first held her…and I whispered her name into her fuzzy newborn ear.
And then Mr. Kat 1.0 proceeded to call all the family members and friends and tell them various assorted other versions of her name, none of them accurate—no one knew for sure what her name was until they heard it from me!
Happy Birthday to my tweenager, many happy returns of the day to my girl.