When we saw two lines on that first drugstore pregnancy test we were astounded. Do we dare revel in the joy of this moment? We tried not to get too excited. The second line was a little fuzzy. It could be a mistake or the stick could be faulty. I immediately recruited my sisters and headed to Wal-Mart.
I didn't tell them what we were going to the store for at eleven o'clock at night until they got in the car with me. They didn't meter their excitement. They had been the ones who insisted I take a test in the first place. I immediatley took another test when we got back. Two lines again-- two clearer lines? Are they suppose to be clearer still? Why did I get another test with lines? "Yeah, I think we are pregnant," I told my husband. But, still too early to celebrate. You have to do these tests in the morning, don't you know?
A few hours into the a.m. the stick said "pregnant." Definitely feeling overwhelmed. Three test can't be wrong, can they? One doctor's visit later and it was officially time to rejoice.
Then it was baby naming time. You can't leave those things up to the spur of the moment... at least we couldn't. We didn't want just any random cutesy name. We wanted it to mean something. Your name is your first impression to the world, afterall; and I just can't curse my child to a "sea of bitterness" or "sorrows" (Mary and Dolores, respectively.) And to make it harder we limited ourselves to the letter "A". We finally settled on Ayden. Girl or Boy, Ayden would be our baby's name. We figured that any child of ours would be a ball of fire. With my crass sarcastic nature and my husband's short-fused temper, there was no other way she could be. I say "she" because there was never any doubt that she would be a girl. She would be our "little fire" and she will bring a new warmth and greater
love to our home.
At four months, we decided to call her Armani because she is "from the home of Armand(o)." At this point we toyed with the idea of a third name. Why not? We're of Mexican descent. And forgive me for saying it, but black people can name their kids almost anything they want. They have a creative liberty no one else is allowed.(Lucky). But, as Mexicans we have the right to extend a child's name as long as we like--a tradition many shy away from due to the relentless persection by many comedians. So, giving our child three names is an obigation to our people-- a nod to all those Mexicans with ridiculously long names--a scoff at the relentless jokes on the subject-- and a smug satisfaction for us everytime someone asks why we would do such a thing. It was our one frivolous allowance, a guilty pleasure that amuses us still.
One month before Ayden was born, my husband had her name tattoed on his arm. Flooded with pregnancy hormones, I wondered if this was a good decision. What if she doesn't look like an Ayden? What if she's more of a Kathryn of Sophia? Oh well. Too late. Now there is no going back.
We welcomed our blessing in 2008. She was 7 lbs 8 oz and three days overdue. God had given us the greatest resposiblity of our lives in the cutest, sweetest, loveliest little package. She filled a place in our heart we never realized was so empty and we named her Ayden Armani Faith. She is a feisty little girl who loves to dance and looks a lot like her father. She is God's answer to a little prayer a couple placed in a prayer box one church service. She is a blessing without the disguise.
